


The Final Truth

by LFB72



Series: Confessions [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Gen, Hurt Merlin, Hurt/Comfort, Magic Revealed, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5156882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur knew Merlin had a secret, and it was driving him mad. A botched attempt on the castle presents the king with a means of getting the answers he craves - but at what cost? Arthur's actions not only risk his servant's life, but all they have built.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 Prologue: The vial

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is set after the end of season 4, but before season 5, it is a sequel to my other story, Burning Amidst an Ocean, but I think it is possible to enjoy it on its own. I hope you like it. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.  
> Many thanks to Caldera32 my wonderful beta who also supplied the cover art.

[ ](https://imgur.com/VXhOcfp)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1 Prologue: The vial

Appearances can be deceptive. It was hard to believe such a great power could hide in such an innocuous form, and that the victims of such a force would not even know they had been duped and manipulated.

A small vial was held between his thumb and index finger; he rotated it repeatedly and watched the air bubble rise and fall as he manoeuvred the little bottle between his digits. It rolled back and forth over his knuckles, into his palm, and back again; over and over. Occasionally the glass would chink against his silver thumb ring but the vial continued on its journey, never stopping. It was mesmerising, the power he held in his hand – and he knew exactly whom he was going to use it on.

He was proud of his wife, her independence and how she had grown into her role; he discussed almost everything with his love and valued her clear-headed counsel. The queen was away on state business and it couldn't have been at a worse time. He needed her calming presence right now because if she were here he probably would not even consider the course of action he was currently pursuing.

Arthur could not ask Merlin for advice as he usually would since the servant was the very cause of the anguish. Gaius was hardly objective in this matter and, as king, the knights looked up to him as their leader. In reality he knew Gwaine would gut him rather than agree to this plan and Leon had become much more protective of his servant lately so they would be no allies. Arthur's spouse was absent so he was left to brood and scheme alone - which was most unbefitting of the king who had created the round table. The royal would argue he'd been driven to it, that he had no choice. As soon as the monarch thought about it in those terms, Merlin's fate was sealed.

What the royal did not know was that his actions would result in something far more terrible and tragic than he could ever have imagined. Unfortunately the king was not blessed with second sight, for if he were he would have gotten rid of the tiny vial as soon as it came into his possession. He didn't understand what he was dealing with and his servant would pay the price of the king's ill-informed decision.

Three months ago there had been another failed attempt on his beloved Camelot. Nothing unusual in that, there were no shortages of enemies queuing up to try and have a piece of his glorious city or dislodge her monarch. None had been successful save for Morgana, and she had been dethroned relatively quickly - although not without losses. It amazed the king sometimes how they had been victorious in light of such unfavourable odds, but time and time again the seemingly impossible was achieved – almost like an invisible force was keeping them safe. Arthur did not want to dwell on that and what it meant; it was something he could not make sense of, just a feeling he got sometimes.

It was the method of attack that placed this attempt apart from the others, thus setting the wheels in motion for the events that would follow. Gaius had frowned upon it and said that even in the days of the Old Religion such practices had been considered unethical. Unfortunately, despite his misgivings, a seed was planted that day. It took root, then grew and prospered in the fertile ground of Arthur's mind. It became a poisonous weed whose tendrils worked their way into every corner and crevice, choking the king's reason until the royal saw no other way.

In truth, the doubts began long before then - after his best friend had nearly died. A quest to a neighbouring kingdom across a vast ocean had almost ended in disaster when Merlin fell in the sea, almost drowned, and developed a life threatening fever. In his delirium the servant had disclosed a forbidden but ultimately tragic relationship with a druid girl. It was Arthur's hand that had stolen her life, but miraculously his friend had held no grudge -had even forgiven the heinous deed. As his servant was nursed back to health scars and mutilations were revealed that covered his frail body, gained protecting loved ones and serving his king. It astounded Arthur that despite the burdens the young man carried (pain that would crush a lesser man) his friend could take such simple pleasure in the world around him, could be optimistic in the face of danger and seek goodness where others saw a pit of despair.  _Why pursue this if Merlin is so seemingly wholesome? Because I know he's lying to me and has done for quite some time._

Things were supposed to be different when they got back to Camelot, and they were, but when Arthur tried to sit Merlin down and reopen their discussion other things got in the way; chores that needed attending, strange bangs that must be investigated. In desperation Arthur had even tried to loosen his friends tongue with alcohol, but Gwaine had also been at the tavern and his antics had caused such a commotion that they'd been forced to flee, their merry friend in tow. This debacle left the royal's opportunity for questions squandered yet again. The king had learnt much about Merlin over the years and had discovered some startling revelations on that fateful voyage but there were still gaps in his knowledge and all his servant offered was an impenetrable wall of silence and deflection.

At first, Arthur accepted some things were hidden; there were secrets he was just not meant to know. It irked him, though; a darkness that got under his skin and itched. Once that black mark was scratched it became a wound; a weeping chasm that could not be ignored and would offer no peace until that final truth was known.

Thus the doubts began the uncertainty, the suspicion, and finally the knowledge that Merlin kept a grave secret.  _What could it possibly be? What could be worse than the things I have already discovered? Why will he not tell me? We are friends, aren't we? He knows everything about me, but sometimes I think I know nothing -that I have only scratched the surface. That's not how friendship works._

The monarch braced himself, dug deep, and grasped his wavering resolve. With a harsh sigh he broke the wax seal, uncorked the tiny vial, and poured the contents into a water-skin. The warrior's hands shook as he performed the task, but not a drop was spilled. Now all he had to do was get Merlin to drink the potion, and wait.  _This was the right thing to do; he had no choice. Then why were his palms slippery, his mouth dry, and his skin crawling at the wrongness of what he was about to do?_

The king had good instincts, if he had listened to them all that would follow could have been avoided – but he was deaf, stubborn, and thought he knew best. That was his bane and Merlin would pay the price for it - with his life.

 


	2. The Break-in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin must choose between protecting Camelot and keeping his secret.

Chapter 2 The Break-in

Merlin is a sorcerer, the most powerful ever to walk the earth – or so they say; so why did the mighty one keep finding himself in near-death situations? He was prevented from pondering this troublesome matter further by the distinct lack of oxygen reaching his brain.

The warlock's vision was starting to fade and he clawed at the fat fingers that were locked round his throat, trying to release the pressure on his trachea so he could breathe. He fought and kicked his assailant but the large man was out of reach even for the servant's gangly limbs. He was pinned mercilessly against stone, the unforgiving surface biting into his back and skull. Muscular forearms lifted Merlin off the ground, his feet desperately scrabbling but failing to find purchase.

The king's manservant could feel spittle hit his face, could smell the stench of bad teeth, but was deaf to the evil insults being delivered with glee; everything was obscured by the pounding in his skull. His brain and lungs screamed for air, but it could not get through. His head would surely explode with the build up of pressure that was fighting for release.

"I'm enjoying this," the man sneered.

If Merlin had been in a position to give a retort he would, but as it was he did not even register the words; he was too busy losing the battle to stay conscious.

"I will never have to listen to your stupid prattle ever again."

The warlock's world went black.

"I will squeeze until your eyes turn, you interfering piece of..."

The sentence was left hanging, but his wishes were granted. The ugly man never heard Merlin's voice again and his prey's eyes did change colour – vibrant gold, a split second before the monster was hurled through the air like a wet rag to strike the opposing wall. The limp body bounced off the bricks and fell to the floor with a resounding thud and a small cloud of dust.

The wounded warlock dropped to his knees and fell onto his side. He clutched at his throbbing neck, flailing like a fish out of water, gasping for the sweet oxygen that was his once more. He did not care that the debris from the floor was sucked up into his aching lungs or that his sight was yet to return, being alive was reward enough. The sorcerer barely had time to reflect on how saving Camelot had resulted in him injuring himself yet again before he was overtaken by exhaustion and blacked out.

* * *

There was a ringing sound disturbing his sleep and he batted at it feebly, which of course was useless. The noise was so loud it was impossible to get comfortable and the dark-haired man was forced to open his eyes. He was not in his bed, which is where he should be in the middle of the night; instead he lay on the floor in the middle of a cold corridor. It took a moment to remember what had led him to this destination, but his tight throat and the spectacle before him served as a reminder. To his left was the man that had attacked him – the oaf was alive but out cold. Merlin struggled to his feet, leaning against the wall for support.

The sound of pounding footsteps alerted the warlock to the imminent arrival of company. He picked up the metal pitcher that had been largely unsuccessful as the first line of defence against his assailant and muttered a hasty spell aimed at reducing the swelling of his throat. He only just had time to adjust his neckerchief so the damage was hidden before Leon and Gwaine skidded around the corner. The knights ground to a halt, swords drawn as they surveyed the scene with some surprise. After a brief pause Gwaine strides over and grasps his friend's skinny shoulder, giving it two affectionate slaps.

"Well done mate!" He winked, acknowledging the makeshift weapon Merlin brandished in his hands.

Both knights went to the fallen man's prone body and rolled him over, searching his form as if looking for something in addition to checking his vitals.

Arthur materialised moments later, flanked by two guards. Woken by the sound of the warning bell, the royal arrived in the main corridor to find his personal servant and two knights crowded around an inert form on the floor. Merlin looked shaken, leaning against the wall; he hugged himself awkwardly, rubbed his left arm, and could not hide the bruise beginning to bloom on his temple. The dark-haired man's gaze did not leave the crumpled, unconscious male.

The motionless figure was a servant who had been in the castle's employ for over six months. Arthur did not know his name but he recognised the face, his work had been exemplary. The reason the king was so familiar with this man was because Merlin had pointed him out a few days previously. His friend had come to him warning that something was going on, that the other servant could not be trusted. Unfortunately, Merlin had no proof other than a 'feeling', leaving the king powerless to act. So he had dismissed his manservant's claims. The rebuke had produced a look of hurt on the dark-haired man's face that had not gone unnoticed by the monarch.

"What happened?" The king barked.

Leon answered, "The vaults have been broken into and two guards were killed."

Arthur rubbed his brow; there were all manner of dangerous artefacts, precious metals, gems and weapons down there.

"What was taken?" He asked gravely.

"Small items of high value, mainly jewels from what we can tell," Gwaine retrieved the precious items that had been stuffed into the unconscious man's pockets and held aloft a silver amulet which swung hypnotically from his cupped hands.

"Are these all the missing items?"

Leon nodded, "We think so Sire."

The king sighed in relief, and shook his head, "Well, your actions seem to have averted a potential disaster."

"Thank you, Sire," Leon nods.

The warlock let out the breath he'd been holding. Arthur is about to wrap everything up – soon it will all be over and he can go back to his bed. His assailant is still unconscious, but if later he makes an accusation of sorcery who would believe him? He's an established liar and a thief.

"Hang on, what about our man Merlin?" Gwaine says enthusiastically, shooting the curly-haired knight a dirty look and motioning towards Merlin with a big grin, "He's the one who stopped the guy." It annoys Gwaine that his young friend never gets any recognition for the things he does.

The knight saunters over to the servant, placing an arm around his shoulders and giving an affectionate squeeze, "You dark horse, I didn't know you had it in you," he chuckles.

The thin man looked up for the first time, "eh..., erm...," he gave up on speaking and just smiled, slightly bewildered. Merlin inwardly cursed Gwaine; he means well, but the secret sorcerer would've been quite happy for the knights to take the credit – now all the attention is on him.

Arthur studied the large oaf out cold on the floor and glanced back to his slender servant. Ever since the king first saw those hideous scars on Merlin's lithe frame he had vowed to stop any more being added to the porcelain skin. The royal had started giving the notoriously clumsy servant lessons on how to defend himself. Merlin had shown some improvement, but still, this traitor had dispatched two guards in a gruesome manner and was twice the size of the lanky man.

"How?" The monarch was incredulous.  _Merlin never ceased to amaze._

All eyes turn towards the king's manservant, who had been unusually quite during the exchanges. Merlin jerked himself aware and took in the questioning look of his king. He bit his lip and hesitated before extricating himself from Gwaine's grip with a wince. He then produced a metal water pitcher from behind his back, one with a head-shaped dent in the side. He waved the jug nonchalantly with a twitch of the lips and small shoulder shrug.

"Merlin, are you mad?" Arthur screeched, "He's a giant, why didn't you get one of the knights?"

The servant looked exasperated, but was saved from speaking by Gaius' fortuitous arrival. The white-haired man's creaking joints announced his presence shortly before the hobbling physician came into view, breathless and escorted by Percival.

"What's this?" Exclaimed Gwaine, having gone back to the body. He rose to his feet, flicking a long fringe of wavy hair from his bearded face with a deft jerk of his chin. The rugged knight pulled out a leather package triumphantly and unravelled the bundle with some fanfare - it contained several glass vials, each with clear liquid in them.

"Gaius?" The king queried.

The physician held out a gnarled hand and the knight dropped the little bottles into his palm. Gaius grasped one and put the remaining vials in his pocket. The old man held it up to the torch light. He carefully uncorked it and sniffed, then put a drop of liquid onto his forefinger, rubbing it between that digit and his thumb before tasting it. Arthur watched, totally enthralled by the myriad of facial expressions the old man displayed as he worked. After an age and much smacking of lips, grunts, and groans; Gaius raised an eyebrow and addressed his liege – delivering a verdict.

"I cannot be certain Sire, but I believe this to be sodium pentothal," registering the blank expressions, he clarified, "commonly known as truth serum."

"Truth serum?" The king questioned, confused.

"I believe so, Your Highness. It is incredibly difficult to make even for the very skilled."

"Sorcery?" Arthur guessed, resigned. He missed his servant's flinch at the word, but Leon didn't.

"No, apothecary," the physician huffed. "The practice is often considered similar to that of witchcraft, but there is no magic involved. Unfortunately, many innocent chemists perished needlessly in the purge." He finished solemnly, clasping his hands together in front of his robes, having placed the vial in a pocket.

Gaius' tone was neutral but the statement demonstrated once again the indiscriminate slaughter that took place during Uther's reign. Arthur inwardly cringed. For years the easiest way to dispose of someone would be to suggest they were a magic user. The mere accusation itself was often enough to seal their fate - evidence rarely, if ever, came into it. The king shuddered; Guinevere had twice been moments from a horrific execution over a mere misunderstanding, only being saved by the discovery of the real magic wielder at the last second.

"It is a highly effective weapon; odourless, colourless, and tasteless," Gaius' explanation broke into the king's thoughts. "It produces an effect similar to intoxication, but is much more reliable. The victim answers questions willingly and afterward has no recollection. It is one of the more pleasant ways of extracting information."

The monarch put his hands on his hips and paced. Camelot had many secrets that her enemies would want, such as the layout of the citadel or the timing of patrols. He trusted his men implicitly, but how could they fight such an invisible force? Camelot knights were renowned for their loyalty, courage, and fortitude under pressure. The monarch shook his head, this method was so simple.

Gwaine took umbrage at the accusing glare he was receiving from the king.

"Don't look at me princess, I've not told him anything!" The rugged knight drew himself up defensively.

"You wouldn't know," the royal began, chest puffed, but was interrupted by a cough.

"We have caught the culprit," Leon supplied helpfully. "Hopefully he has been apprehended before he could put the plan into action."

Arthur sighed, he wanted to believe his second-in-command but the facts did not add up.

"If what Gaius says is true, this potion was made by someone who did not want to be noticed. It's a sophisticated form of attack." The king gestured to the lump on the floor, "He stole and killed, which is brutal and crass. It does not make sense."

Gwaine shrugged, "Perhaps he was employed by someone else and got greedy?" Despite the apparent carefree attitude and a penchant for ale, Gwaine was an intelligent and astute man. When it came to people and their motives, he was very perceptive. The thief had indeed been a pawn in a bigger scheme, but like many before him, he had been seduced by the lure of Camelot's treasures.

The king recognised the merit of what the knight had said, and Arthur found himself nodding. "Very well, let us trust that is the extent of it. Either way we will have our answers in the morning - we have the very means of gaining the information if it is not forthcoming."

Merlin felt sick - he'd used his magic on the traitor.  _Someone with a bloody truth tonic, what were the chances?_ When the slime-ball woke and was questioned he would delight in telling them. Should it somehow slip his mind, that damned potion would jog it for him and the sorcerer's secret would be a secret no more.

During the exchange the king had noticed Merlin sagging, slowly sliding down the wall. He looked distant as he nursed his arm absently; his eyes were bloodshot, he was far too pale and a little unsteady.

"Are you hurt?" Arthur exclaimed suddenly.

The warlock made a grunting noise and shook his head. Arthur could tell his servant was injured and lying about it. Anger flared. Arthur would have taken Merlin's response at face value not so long ago, but not anymore. The monarch marched over and wrenched the sleeve of his friend's tunic up to reveal a purple hand print over his wrist.

The king seethed. Giving Merlin a disappointed look, he dipped his head and blew hot air through flared nostrils. The injured limb fell gently back to its owner's side when the royal released him.

"Don't lie to me, Merlin; I'm not blind," he said viciously, struggling to keep the hurt out of his voice.

In the past his servant had repeatedly been wounded and covered it up, so the royal had taken it upon himself to pay more attention - especially after skirmishes. He had hoped his servant would be more honest, but it was becoming obvious that was not the case. Arthur did not like being taken for a fool.  _The marks on Merlin's arm were minor, so why hide them? What else was he concealing?_ He suspected the injuries were more extensive just by the way the servant had moved, yet his reluctance to admit this remained a mystery. Doubts burrowed into his mind and would not go away.

The royal was weary and slight irritation crept into his voice, "Take the traitor to the dungeons," he waved his finger at the direction of the thief. "We will question him at first light," the command was directed at his knights. "Merlin, get Gaius to check your arm." Then he added, quietly and with some resignation, "You look tired, get some sleep – I will expect you at normal time in the morning."

"Yes Sire," Merlin nodded submissively. He was relieved Arthur had not pulled down his neckerchief; the faded red material barely hid the marks he'd received when the spy had tried to strangle him. Should the royal have discovered the bruises to his throat his victory over a man twice his size would have been even more unbelievable. The warlock knew the king was angry and he felt slightly ashamed. Arthur had been trying so hard recently; the usually oblivious royal had started applying his sharp hunting skills and had become more observant and, subsequently, more suspicious. The secret sorcerer was terrified of making a slip up and revealing his gift.  _But if the captive man spoke what did his effort matter?_  He tried not to think about it.

It was second nature to draw attention away from himself by blending into the background and playing an idiot. That way no one would imagine him a powerful warlock – the very thought would be absurd. Perhaps he should have told Arthur the extent of his injures, but things were getting tricky as it was. Arthur had insisted on giving him private lessons in swordsmanship; the sovereign now watched him intently and if it wasn't the king, then it was Leon. The curly-haired knight kept popping up in all manner of inconvenient places. It made him feel paranoid and was making clandestine trips around the castle very difficult.

These extra precautions seemed to be in place since his near-drowning. He should have been grateful for their concern because it showed that, underneath the insults, they cared. Yet the attention smothered him and he was not worthy of it. He was a fraud. Emrys was a mighty warlock; he did not need looking after. As long as he wasn't taken by surprise he was more than capable of taking care of himself and protecting his king. The knights and Arthur were blinded by his simple persona; it would make it so much worse when they discovered his deception and found out what he really was.

* * *

The following morning the king went to question the thief, accompanied by Gwaine and Percival. All hell had broken loose. The prisoner had a knife at the neck of a man, holding him hostage; somehow he'd managed to strangle a guard and escape from the cell. There was an uncomfortable silence; the knights drew their swords and Arthur spoke.

"Put the knife down and release the guard; you're outnumbered."

"No, I don't think I will," he said as he edged towards the corridor. Feeling like he had the upper hand, the large man couldn't resist gloating. "You're such a fool. You don't know what's going on with your own staff," he sneered.

"We still caught you," the guard said through gritted teeth, his gaze darting between the knights and his captor.

"No, the runt got me. I'd never have guessed, sneaky little...," seeing the confusion flick over the royal's face, he added, "Oh, didn't you know, Pendragon? Your personal servant's a...," the thief choked on the words and his eyes suddenly widened in shock. The knife clattered to the floor as he looked down and clasped his chest, red blossoming beneath his fingers. His body pitched forward to hit the ground hard, a sword protruding from his back.

The freed guard fainted, joining the dead man in a heap on the floor. Leon was now revealed as the knight who had put an end to the murderer's rampage. He stood stoically awaiting judgement.

"Leon! What have you done? We needed to question him!"

"I'm sorry Sire," Leon bowed, "he was dangerous. He'd killed three men and was threatening a fourth – it was necessary." The curly-haired knight responded reasonably and with the utmost respect.

The thief was dead and his secrets died with him. Leon did not regret what he'd done; he'd seen the man's body when Gaius had checked him over last night, when the physician had confirmed he would be fine. Leon knew the man's injuries were consistent with being thrown against a wall, not a blow to the head with a tiny water pitcher. The knight had sworn to protect Merlin, even if the servant was not aware of it, and if that meant killing a dangerous and vindictive murderer before he could be questioned then so be it.

As the knights had removed the bodies, the royal lamented over another attack on Camelot - albeit a failed one. He watched everyone depart and sat quietly, absorbed in his own thoughts. As Arthur readied himself to leave something caught his eye. He bent down and picked up a vial – They must have missed it when searching the prisoner earlier. The king stuffed the tiny bottle in his back pocket and returned to his chambers. He would give the potion to Gaius later.

TBC

 


	3. Little White lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is caught out in a deception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments, hope you enjoy the next chapter.

Chapter 3 Little White Lies

The castle felt different at this time of night – eerie. Although he was king and free to roam where and when he pleased it seemed wrong to be creeping around the empty corridors when most of Camelot's inhabitants were tucked up in their beds asleep. Tonight such a simple pleasure eluded the royal; he could not sleep and it was his servant's fault. It was down to Merlin that he was wide awake and sneaking around his own castle like a naughty boy hiding from his father rather than the married and respected sovereign he was. The irony being that the dark-haired man would usually be at his side instigating such an activity, not the subject of it.

It was essential he spoke to his servant. Of course he'd tried talking before, but he never knew what to say. Despite all the insults, bravado, and banter which came so easily; getting information out of Merlin was like trying to prize a limpet off a rock. It had gone on long enough; he needed to know. He had to understand what it was that his friend could not tell him.

Three months had passed since he'd acquired a truth potion. Arthur had genuinely meant to give it back to Gaius, but somehow never got around to it and too much time had passed now for it not to be awkward. The royal could hardly leave something like that lying around for anyone to find, so he kept it on his person. He'd toyed with the idea of giving Merlin the tonic, but had dismissed such a dishonourable notion out of hand. He'd repeatedly tried to bury the noxious idea in the recesses of his mind, but it would not stay down. Every time his servant avoided a question or told a suspicious story he found his hand gravitating toward the little bottle he kept in his pocket. This had to stop; it was driving him mad.

After several hours of fruitless tossing and turning Arthur had gotten up, dressed, and was determined to sort this business out once and for all. It was the middle of the night, but Merlin had let slip Gaius was away dealing with a birth in the lower town leaving the servant alone. The royal wondered if it was too late for the visit, but his friend often stayed up into the wee hours; the frequency of barely-concealed yawns and half-lidded eyes was testament to that.

When the royal arrived at the physician's quarters the room was dark; Arthur could only just make out the array of bottles, books and apparatus lain on the table. He crossed the aromatic area and made his way up the stairs to the servant's room. No light escaped from under the door to indicate the occupant was still awake but the king continued regardless. He opened the door with every intention of waking the sleeping man by any means necessary but the bed was bare and unsullied - the room's usual resident was nowhere to be found. Arthur waited, drummed his fingers and paced about in the small space; he even considered looking over Merlin's sparse belongings to pass the time. He spied what appeared to be an ancient tome half stuffed under his servant's pillow, but there was insufficient light to even attempt to read it; besides, it felt like an intrusion.

Sleep was yet another one of those skills that came easily to the monarch; he would end his day tired from the arduous physical activity of training or hunting in addition to the mental fatigue from attending endless council meetings, reading official documents, and writing boring reports. Being a king could be exhausting, so he was more than ready for his bed when the time came. Arthur tried to be a good and just leader thus could slip into bliss easily. Seldom did his conscience keep him from slumber; usually he was so content in dreamland that he would resent his servant trying to separate him from his covers when the morning arrived far too quickly. The monarch smiled as he thought of the inventive ways Merlin had attempted to rouse him, only to dodge a goblet or piece of fruit for his trouble. The servant had been a little more cautious with his wake-ups following the royal marriage. Arriving unannounced one morning he'd been forced to retreat rather quickly, leaving red faces all around.

Many emotions assaulted the king; he was surprised, curious, and a tad annoyed regarding his servant's whereabouts. What was he doing at this hour? The tavern wasn't even open! As the time went by worry encroached. It was not unusual for Merlin to just disappear only to turn up with some tall tale but despite outward appearances he did not always return unscathed - or so the king had discovered recently. Arthur sighed; he knew his knights did not always remain in their own beds and he would not presume to pursue the matter, but the knights did not keep secrets - if anything, there was a tendency to brag about their exploits. Merlin, however, had always been a bit of an enigma and despite a mouth that was seldom without motion the servant could be surprisingly tight-lipped when he wanted to be. The royal's eyelids grew heavy and when he could stand the chill room no longer he inwardly admitted defeat and returned to his chambers, falling asleep shortly before dawn.

Things had been going well recently; three months had passed since the last incident and the number of magical attacks on Camelot had dropped (thanks to the warlock's vigilance and some of the wards he'd placed on the castle). Merlin still felt uneasy; he had been so sure there would be backlash after the fiasco with the truth potion. After all, the thief had died in captivity; the person who had employed him had to wonder what had happened. Surely all that planning would not go to waste? There must be more to it, an additional assault on the city and her king perhaps. There had been nothing. The servant worried; for weeks he'd stayed up late at night searching through his magic book for defensive spells and silent alarms that would alert him if anything was amiss. It did not ease his sense of foreboding. Something bad was going to happen; he knew it.

At least Gaius had destroyed the potion immediately. The old physician had been enthralled by the craftsmanship, but he knew how tempting and dangerous such a thing could be. It would not do for something like that to get into the wrong hands – the consequences for Camelot would be dire. Merlin gave an involuntary shiver; too much knowledge never bade well. Morgana was a seer and look where that got her; all those glimpses of the future made her demented and desperate. Prophecies and visions in crystal had tormented him too. He was told Mordred would kill Arthur and he let the boy go – he could not have destroyed an innocent child. Should the druid ever return with ill intent, Merlin would be forced to live with the knowledge he could have prevented it. He had been shown the havoc the dragon would cause, but his hand was forced and he released Kilgharrah anyway - then he had to watch the same scenes play over and over, like fate was taunting him as a sick joke. No, being blind had its benefits and he envied Arthur because the king did not know half of what went on; it was better that way. To just live your life as it was and not have destiny pull strings, highlight mistakes, and dangle dreams that were out of reach. Yes, sometimes he wished he was oblivious to what was happening because then he could wallow in the bliss of ignorance.

On a positive note, Arthur seemed to be asking for his opinion a bit more frequently. Merlin felt valued in his own right - that maybe his thoughts were worth something to his friend. The king had even discussed the old druid clans with Geoffrey the librarian, and it would appear the royal really was going to act on the promise he made to pardon the people - opening up discussions with their communities. Perhaps it was time to confess about his magic, but he could not bring himself to do it just yet. The tide finally felt like it may change and he did not want to spoil it with a rash decision. Before he revealed his secret he wanted to make sure the castle and those he loved were protected in case he had to leave suddenly.

Thoughts kept churning around his head to the extent he was dizzy with them. The warlock yawned and rubbed his eyes; he was drained. He'd already splashed water on his face to keep himself awake but to no avail. It had just caused him to be late and he barely made it to the kitchens in time to collect Arthur's breakfast. He contemplated pinching some of the food but suddenly felt nauseous. Merlin wanted to crawl into bed but couldn't; if only he hadn't been up all night. He hoped the royal wouldn't notice how tired he was and ask questions because the sorcerer could hardly tell him what he'd been up to. Trouble was, Arthur was noticing things and quizzing him more lately - he would just have to pretend nothing was wrong.

The curtains were thrown back enthusiastically, welcoming bright sunshine into the king's chambers. The servant performing the task was equally cheery.

"Wakey, wakey, lazy daisy," the skinny man bellowed, beginning to organise the room.

Arthur was bad-tempered and launched a pillow in the direction of his seemingly joyous employee. Merlin's happy demeanour irked him no end.

"How, in the name of sanity, can you be so happy at this time in the morning?" He snarled, diving back under the covers.

The dark-haired man smiled smugly (Arthur could not see his face but could hear it in the tone and knew the expression that went with that voice).

"Without Gaius' snoring to keep me up I enjoyed one of the best night's rest in a long time," the servant crowed.

Arthur froze, livid. He threw back the sheets ready to challenge the younger man and catch him out in his deception – but the king stopped himself. Anger at being constantly misled fizzed beneath the surface. To think, he'd actually been concerned about his friend's whereabouts. He watched, stunned, as Merlin continued his chores in an easy manner. He took in the creased clothes, unkempt hair, telltale dark circles under the eyes, and the slight stiffness of his movements. How did his servant have the gall to pretend he wasn't up all night when he looked like that? What the hell had he been doing? Merlin had stood before him and told a blatant lie; how it had slid as smooth as honey from that sharp mouth amazed and infuriated the royal as he'd always considered his friend honest.

That was the beginning of the end; no one made a fool of Arthur Pendragon. He would have his answers regardless of whether Merlin wanted to give them; he had the very means at his disposal and what had been so abhorrent suddenly seemed necessary. It would be easy, painless, and his servant would be none the wiser until it was all over. He was slippery and evaded questions like water through open fingers but Arthur was the king of Camelot and his subjects did not keep secrets from him. He was furious at Merlin. He felt no guilt at his plan of action, on the contrary, he was indignant and righteous. The royal struggled to keep his testiness in check; but his servant did not suspect a thing since such behaviour was commonplace in the mornings.

The easiest way to get Merlin to drink the potion would be to make him thirsty; that evening he would open the potion and pour the contents into a water-skin. Arthur informed the servant they would have an extra sparring session at the end of the day. If the king noticed the slight sag of the shoulders and huff this news elicited he said nothing – if his servant was tired, that was his own fault.

Merlin stifled a yawn and pressed on with his chores. I just needed to keep going for a couple more hours – then I could have slept and recovered. Now that wasn't going to happen. The harmless fib designed to avoid a tricky situation would be his undoing – the catalyst that would plunge him head-long into his worst nightmare.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4 Swords and Potions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Arthur give Merlin the potion?

Chapter 4 Swords and Potions

Arthur looked over the training grounds, searching for the gangly figure who was supposed to be joining him and was already late. He tapped his foot impatiently against the soft ground, releasing the scent of wet grass, and scanned the horizon once again but there was no sign of his tardy servant. As the king waited he played with the stopper on the water-skin; he'd almost emptied the contents onto the ground several times but had righted the vessel at the last moment. With a sigh he looked down at the object he held in his hands. Merlin's perpetual inability to arrive on time was not helping matters. The doctored water-carrier remained full and the king began to pace.

These personal training sessions were designed to help the hapless servant protect himself during bandit attacks; Gwaine and Leon had been keen to offer their services but Arthur had wanted the project all to himself. The king enjoyed this; he liked anything physical and would lose himself in the mock fights. He loved the exhilaration of his heart beating faster, the pull and ache in his muscles as he pounded his body and let his mind be free. It was the one time he could forget the pressures of being a king and just enjoy the flow of movement, the rhythm of his sword as his arm effortlessly carried out the cuts and thrusts he'd been taught as a child. These skills had become so ingrained that his body instinctively responded to any challenge without conscious thought. Often Arthur could anticipate his opponent's intentions before they'd even thought of what to do and therefore parried most blows easily.

The royal had tried to impress upon his servant that it was just like learning the intricate moves of a dance – this did not help matters and the lanky man would wrap himself in knots and trip over his own feet. Merlin looked as comfortable holding a weapon as the king holding a scrubbing brush. His repertoire was limited and he lacked the strength and expertise to wield the blade proficiently. The only thing in his favour was speed; he actually got better when the pace picked up and when Merlin acted instinctively he was often successful. Strangely, Arthur could not always predict what the servant was going to do and there had even been a few occasions when Merlin had managed a feat some of the knights struggled with - to get the upper hand against the king. How he did it was a mystery; the moves were unorthodox but somehow it worked. When Arthur thought about it, Merlin had excellent reactions; he was the one that sensed things before anyone else. He seemed to have a second sight - the monarch had lost count of the times he'd been manhandled to the ground by a mass of lanky limbs, averting a danger he had not even been aware of. The irony was, for someone who hated hunting, Merlin had the eyes and ears of a hawk; but for all that, the grace of his namesake eluded him.

As the warlock rushed towards the training grounds he could just make out the armour-clad king stomping up and down, kicking divots in the ground _. Great, the prat was in a temper._  Merlin sighed; he was already drained from lack of sleep and hoped the royal would not make him run around the field to warm up before practice. Arthur had got it into his head Merlin ought to increase his stamina by doing laps but as far as the sorcerer was concerned running should be reserved for when one was late (which he frequently was) or when something horrid was chasing you (again, something that happened far too frequently for the servant's liking).

Being outside was usually rejuvenating; the breeze on his face, the sounds of the birds and the smell of wild herbs. The fresh air should make him feel better, only he was here to fight so it didn't. Merlin hated violence and wished disputes could be settled more amicably; he knew it was necessary for the knights but he could obliterate a kingdom with a blink of an eye and a wave of his hand if he chose to. He had no desire for such things. He only killed if he had to; taking any life saddened him and was only done as a last resort. The warlock wondered why he should be given so much power when half the time he used it for such trivial things. The rest of his time was spent keeping The Once and Future King free from harm and that did require effort; the task would be so much easier if he did not have to hide his gift. He longed for the freedom to study and hone his craft – to reach his true potential. Sometimes he feared he would lose against Morgana. He had more innate power, but when was his chance to practice? She had every waking hour at her disposal; no magic was out of bounds, no act too low, she was ruthless and cared for no one – this was her greatest strength and it was all to his detriment. Such thoughts were not helpful and he pushed them aside. Arthur had insisted on these lessons and Merlin inwardly smiled. It was the only way the royal could show he cared – never with words but through action, deed, and punches.

All too quickly the warlock was dressed with a breastplate, and could see the angry face of his sovereign through the slit in his helmet. Licking his lips, he swallowed and flexed his fingers against the pommel of his sword – let the fun begin.

After half an hour Merlin felt the vibration travel up his forearm and into his aching shoulder as he blocked yet another one of Arthur's blows. He'd barely recovered before he had to prevent a further attempt, this time aimed low, causing the sorcerer to flex his knees dangerously and unbalance himself.

"Stop bobbing up and down, you need to float," barked his opponent.

_And I'd love to see you fly!_ Thought the warlock, but stopped himself, not wanting his gift to respond to such wishes. It would not do to have the king blasted backwards into the dirt no matter how tempting that may be.

"Rotate your hips and transfer the power through your arm."

Useful as this information was, the servant was concentrating on keeping upright. He was flagging and his legs were wobbling uncontrollably. When he lunged his knees would lock momentarily, like being stuck in mud, and it got more difficult to get up. Sweat stung his eyes and the sword slipped in his hand. Arthur's onslaught was relentless; blow after blow delivered with precision and incredible force coupled with helpful tips that Merlin was in no fit state to offer retorts to - though several choice words were mumbled under his breath.

They'd been sparring for three quarters of an hour and the royal had stopped speaking; instead there was only the sound of clanging metal and grunts and groans. They'd both removed their helmets – they were simply too hot and restrictive. The king had a look in his eye and Merlin knew the knight was somewhere else – on a battle field, a skirmish with bandits, a personal hell - not on the training grounds. The slashes got harder and more vicious and it took all of the warlock's concentration not to let his magic intervene and stop the battering.

"Arthur!" He panted, "Stop!"

The monarch did not hear him; he lifted his sword and sliced through the air, making a whooshing sound.

"Arthur!"

Merlin would have to slow time to get out the way.

Arthur was shaken out of his trance by the scream of his servant. He looked up just in time to see the man before him crumple, clutching his thigh.

"Merlin!"

The king speared the ground with his sword and sprinted toward his friend. Merlin was lying on his back like an upturned beetle; grasping his left leg, face contorted in agony. The monarch skidded to a halt and dropped to his knees. He franticly peeled Merlin's fingers away, searching for a break in the thin fabric and braced himself for the blood that would spurt from the wound – there was none. His palpation slowed when all he could feel was taut muscles, plaited cords spasming beneath his touch.

Arthur rocked back onto his heels, letting his hands flop to his sides. "I thought you were hurt," he said curtly.

"It does h-hurt!" By way of demonstration the servant shrieked again and rolled onto his side, still clutching the offending limb.

"It's a cramp, and it's your own fault; if you'd got here on time and warmed up properly this wouldn't have happened," seeing the younger man was still in pain the royal relented.

"Here," Arthur said, "you need to stretch it." With that, the blond knight stabilised the writhing servant's pelvis with a firm right hand as his left grasped Merlin's knee, bending it 90ᵒ. Taking the rest of the weight through his forearm the royal levered Merlin's heel towards his buttock and pulled the quadriceps muscle tight. Stretch over, the king released his servant.

"Better?"

"A bit," the invalid said with a meek shrug of the shoulder, "thanks."

"You need to drink," the king held out the doctored water-skin.

Merlin looked at the offering, he was thirsty but did not want to move so he shook his head, "I'll get something later."

"NO! You have a cramp and need fluids," Arthur insisted a little too urgently. "Now drink it, that's an order."  _Damn it, why do have to make this more difficult than it already is?_

The servant just stared for a moment.

"Of course, Your Highness." The felled man snatched the water-skin, took a large gulp and spat most of it out. "That's disgusting – has something died in there?"

"MERLIN!" The monarch snarled, "That's my own personal water-skin, it has the royal seal."

The dark-haired man flinched, "I'm just saying..."

"Well, don't - just drink it, all of it," he snapped, fixing the younger man with a hard glare.

Merlin gave the king a pinched smile, raised his eyebrows, and tipped the remaining fluid down his throat.

Arthur bit his lip as he saw the servant's Adam's apple bob up and down. He was struck with a sudden urge to swipe the container away but before his hand had even twitched, Merlin had finished. The servant pointedly wiped a sleeve over his mouth and held the water-skin upside down to show it was empty, then tossed it back towards the king.

The deed was done.

"Is everything alright Sire?"

Both men jumped and turned to see Gaius standing serenely before them.

"Oh, hello Gaius, I didn't see you there," the king said like a child caught with his finger in the cake mix, "I have just finished giving Merlin his training."

"So I see," the old man responded dryly.

"Is there something I can help you with Gaius?"

"Yes Sire, as a matter of fact there is. I was wondering if Merlin could be relieved of his duties so he can help me dispose of some out-of-date medicine?"

Panic hit Arthur.  _I need to question him; I need the truth_! The royal calmed. "Is that really necessary? Can't it wait? I am in need of Merlin's services myself this evening."

"Well, Your Highness, the properties of preparations can change over time," the physician licked his lip and proceeded with caution. "It is not safe to keep them over a month. Some lose their potency, some get stronger or even toxic and others can become volatile and dangerous." He leaned forward, "Need I remind you of the explosion that took out most of my previous place of study?"

There was something about the way Gaius spoke that could make the royal feel like a twelve year old and not a mighty king of a thriving city. After an awkward silence Arthur made a decision.

"Very well Gaius, but have Merlin report to my chambers as soon as he's finished."

"I am here, you know," the man in question huffed from his position on the ground.

"Really? Because you looked like you were taking a nap," snapped the royal.

The warlock was about to protest, but he did feel a bit out of sorts and had only caught the last few words of conversation.  _Had he really drifted off?_

"Are you alright, Merlin?" Gaius asked his ward, seeing that the young man looked a bit peaky.

"Tired," he offered with a feeble bob of the head.

"Well, see to it that you go to bed early and don't wait up for me," the physician turned to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to check on Marion and the new babe in the lower town." He blustered; he'd already told his ward this information. "Don't forget to tidy up after you have finished," Gaius nodded to the king and bid farewell, making his way toward the gates of the citadel.

The warlock let his head flop back down and listened to the retreating steps of his guardian. He really did not want to get up, however that choice was not available. He felt a nudge to his calf and squinting through his fingers he saw Arthur eying him expectantly, hands on hips, frown on face.

"Are you going to lie there all day?"

Merlin blinked a few times and struggled to his feet using the royal's outstretched arm as a support. Once he was standing it took a moment for the two kings to merge into one.

"There is no shame in losing to the finest swordsman in Camelot," Arthur quipped.

"I could have beaten you easily if I'd wanted to," the sorcerer sulked.

"Yes, of course you could," the king said sarcastically.  _The potion's not working yet – perhaps it's faulty?_

Merlin let out a large yawn.

"Oh, am I keeping you awake? What was it you were doing last night Merlin?" Arthur could not contain himself; the lie had been bugging him all day.

"I was mending the wall in the lower corridor," the warlock found himself saying.

"What? In the middle of the night?" Arthur screeched, searching the skies.

"Well I could hardly do it during the day, could I?" the servant responded sticking his bottom lip out like a petulant child.

Arthur threw his hands in the air; he struggled to find the words. "I despair of you! You are without a doubt the strangest man I have ever met," he snorted. "Don't be late this evening," and with that he stormed off, leaving the warlock feeling dazed and confused.

Merlin had just been about to explain that one of the wards he'd placed on the castle wall had backfired, causing the sizeable hole in the masonry which had taken him all night to fix. Thankfully Arthur had left - he could not believe he'd been about to say something so incriminating. It must be the sleep deprivation; he felt terrible.

As the sorcerer hobbled towards the castle he murmured a spell to take away the pain in his leg, not caring if anyone saw him. He felt absolutely wretched. At this rate he'd never get to be an old man like Gaius, excessive chores and his job as secret defender to the king would kill him young. Evidence was plentiful for such a claim; there weren't many old servants – but then, there were even fewer old kings – as soon as a monarch becomes vulnerable the opposition takes advantage. Merlin stifled those macabre thoughts; he was not going to let that happen to Arthur.

Little did he know his own life was now in danger, and from the very man he had sworn to protect. Arthur had given him a potion which -unbeknownst to the king - had festered, changed, and mutated over the last three months. No longer was it just a truth tonic, but a deadly poison.

Fate had finally given the warlock his wish; he was completely oblivious to his perilous predicament. A lethal toxin was currently being pumped around his body with every beat of his heart. Even if he had known, it was too late to act.

* * *

**TBC**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, did anyone see that coming?
> 
> In the next chapter, our boys have their talk whilst Merlin is under the influence - I've been itching to get to this part since the beginning and hope you will enjoy it too!


	5. Chapter 5 The Potion Takes Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's health starts to deteriorate and Arthur begins to realise what he has done!

 

Chapter 5 The Potion Takes Effect

By the time Merlin reached Arthur's chambers his vision had started to blur slightly, but just as he got worried about it his surroundings came back into sharp focus. The warlock's brain banged like an incessant drum and he struggled to balance and place his feet. He was clumsy at the best of times but he'd never felt like this – something was seriously amiss. The sorcerer tried to think of a way to improve his situation but it was hard to concentrate and formulate an appropriate spell. He stopped, bracing himself against wobbly knees, trying and failing to get his head together. He let his forehead rest against the cold stone in a vain effort to ready himself for the task ahead, but he could not put it off any longer. He grasped the handle and pushed the oak door open, ready to greet his king.

Arthur heard his servant well before he made his entrance – hurried footsteps, banging and clanging followed by mild cursing – who else could it be? Merlin tumbled into the room looking quite dazed. He managed to navigate the short distance between the door and the king's desk with difficulty; narrowly avoided hitting a pillar as he weaved his way across the room with a scissoring gait.

"Sit," the king commanded, a slight smile playing at the corners of his lips. It was like watching a baby foal. Even when they'd gone drinking with Gwaine Merlin hadn't gotten this intoxicated – perhaps this could be fun. Given how frequently his servant was supposed to visit the tavern he should have seen him lose control at least once - but he never had. Merlin wouldn't ever let go or completely relax; his guard was always up – suddenly that seemed a little odd.

Merlin's hand missed the back of the chair; on the second attempt he found the target and lowered himself onto the seat with a flump. The dark-haired man blinked, his gaze darting around the room like a hungry mosquito. Finally his blue, distinctly glazed eyes found the king.

Arthur started to feel a bit uncomfortable watching the young man struggle. Merlin's complexion was pallid, he licked his lips as if he were thirsty and he was looking at his hands as if discovering them for the first time – rotating his fingers, then waving them in the air as if following an imaginary trail. Surely Merlin was meant to behave like this after ingesting the potion?  _It was one of the side effects wasn't it?_

Arthur had seen many knights overindulge (one in particular), they would become uncoordinated and sometimes sick. He desperately wanted to believe that was all that was wrong with Merlin, but his instincts told him there was more to it than that.

"Merlin?"

There was no answer. The king approached his servant and tried again.

"Merlin?" Arthur knelt down until he was at eye level, "Merlin are you alright?"

At first there was no response but then came a soft reply, "No, I don't feel right, it's never done this before," he became distracted again, waving an appendage in the air. "This is all wrong, it can't be happening," his voice was shrill.

Before the blond perpetrator could ask his victim about the strange comments and behaviour, the warlock provided a rather startling piece of information:

"I'm going to be sick!"

Arthur frantically looked around for some vessel that could be used should his servant follow through with that threat. Spying a fruit bowl he vaulted over the bed, tossed the contents on the floor and sprinted back to his friend, shoving the wooden container under the nose of his servant.

Nothing happened, just the sound of rasping breaths and the vibration of apples rolling around the room. The royal was worried now; Merlin never admitted to being unwell, and to top it all he seemed to be having some sort of panic attack.

Merlin grasped the bowl like it was his only possession and he was frightened someone might steal it. The mop of black hair came up, revealing a grey face dotted with perspiration.

"I just need a minute," he threw his head back and let it fall against his shoulders, taking big gasps of air – not alright at all.

The king, a self-proclaimed man of action, was bewildered. He did not know what to do; this was not the effect he had been expecting.  _Get help? But Gaius would need to know what I've done. No, surely it's not that bad is it? Perhaps I'm not to blame, there could be another cause couldn't there?_ The guilty man poured a cup of water and was surprised by how his hand trembled.

The blond knight approached his servant and supported Merlin's skull carefully in his palm, bringing him upright. His hair was damp and he radiated heat. Arthur's other hand pressed the goblet to pale lips and encouraged the younger man to drink.

"Come on, just some sips," he urged.

Merlin obliged, then with eyes still firmly closed added, "Anyone would think you care."

"Merlin!" The royal jerked, but he could not keep the relief out of his voice.

The warlock seemed to rally; he came into a sitting position and was able to balance on his own, blinking rapidly as he took in his surroundings.

Something was terribly wrong. Merlin could not concentrate, too distracted by pain. He felt like a stake had been driven into his temple and his stomach churned. He tried desperately to prevent the writhing snakes from breaking free. These ailments were the least of his worries – his magic was going haywire, frantic and fizzing, bubbling under his skin, trying to get out. He could not understand what was causing this reaction – it had never happened before.

"It doesn't make sense," he swallowed, rubbing his thumb and index finger against a clammy forehead, "I was fine - tired maybe," he said with some confusion.

"Something you ate?" offered Arthur.  _Like truth serum?_ His conscience screamed.

"Nothing." Having relinquished the empty bowl, Merlin had started scrutinizing his fingers again. He made swirling shapes with his hands, gaze following the movements as if it were a troublesome insect.

Arthur ignored the servant's aerial display. "What? You've eaten nothing?" He questioned in a heated voice.

"Nope!" Merlin seemed oblivious to the blond man's burgeoning rage, too intent on wiggling his own digits.

"You were supposed to have something – it helps a cramp, you idiot!"

"I took a pain killer."

"That's not enough!" Screeched the king.

"There was no time; there is never any time," snapped the sorcerer, "not when you and Gaius always want so much," he added wistfully. The dark-haired man was staring at something over Arthur's shoulder. "Felt nauseous - couldn't eat," he supplied, distracted, and pulled a face.

Suddenly the warlock had a revelation; he turned and looked intently at Arthur. Merlin crouched slightly and cupped his hand to the side of his mouth, "I think someone is trying to kill me!" He whispered, eyes darting from side to side before fixing once again on something behind the king.

Arthur was a little taken aback, "Don't be ridiculous Merlin, who would want to kill you?"

The king's tone was sceptical, but he could not stop himself from following the younger man's glare. He turned towards the corner as if expecting to see an assassin, but of course it was empty. His attention went back to his servant.

"Too many!" was the matter-of-fact reply, "Mainly the same ones who try and get rid of you – I get in the way." Merlin wagged his finger and raised his eyebrows for emphasis.

Arthur froze; he'd heard that phrase before. Merlin had used those exact words when reluctantly explaining how he came by a large burn, central to his chest. He'd been hurt defending his mother, had even killed the perpetrator. The royal thought that was the end of the tale, but this implied there was more to the story _. Had his servant sacrificed himself multiple times, more than his many scars suggested?_ The king's train of thought was interrupted by his servant's triumphant cry.

"Poison!" He shouted, sounding almost pleased that he'd worked out the answer to the problem.

Arthur's mouth went dry.  _No, it couldn't be could it? It was a truth tonic, that's all - designed to loosen his tongue, make him a little inebriated maybe - certainly not toxic!_  A terrible realisation began to dawn on the royal. The physician's ward was familiar with all manner of potions and he'd been poisoned before – he'd drunk it to save the life of an arrogant prince he barely knew. Arthur grabbed his hair in frustration; bile bubbled in his throat. He had absolutely no idea what was in that vial. He should have known something was wrong; Merlin had said the water was disgusting when it was supposed to be tasteless. Gaius had even told him that very day that the properties of medicines change over time.  _Oh what have I done?_  Merlin answered his question for him.

"I...I think I'm dying!" The pale man rubbed his throat and examined his hand again, then he turned towards the royal looking horror-stricken.

"Don't be such..." the words died in his throat, "What makes you say that?" Arthur croaked nervously.  _It couldn't be that bad, there must be a mistake._ He needed to get Gaius.

"Isn't it obvious?" The servant was incredulous as he frantically waved his arm in front of Arthur, "Look, it's leaving! It's..." Merlin suddenly stilled and began to frown. He slumped into the chair and let out a long sigh. Slowly his head levelled, gaze trained on the royal. "You – you gave me the water-skin," Merlin's eyes were wide – a finger pointed at his king. "You..." his breath caught, "you insisted I drink all of it," his voice shook with disbelief.

Caught red-handed, Arthur could not hide his guilt and fumbled his words; he stretched out his hands, palms open as if trying to calm a wild animal. "I, it's –it's not what it looks like." Arthur's head spun.  _I didn't think you'd get sick! You weren't meant to find out; it's all going wrong._

The servant looked terrified and seemed to shrink into the seat, "You know?" His breath hitched and all remaining colour left his face.

"I know nothing, Merlin," the royal looked skyward, "that's the point!" He said through gritted teeth as he balled his hands into fists.

It was no justification for what he had done. When he had planned this it all seemed so simple; the reality was anything but. Trust was the linchpin of friendship and he had tossed it aside like a piece of rubbish. Merlin's secret had been a stone in his shoe and rather than dealing with the irritation appropriately he had thrown away his footwear and been left barefoot, dancing on a sea of broken glass.

When Morgana turned it had been a dagger to his heart, when Guinevere chose Lancelot the blade cut savagely as it twisted, and when Agravaine had shown his true colours it was driven deeper until he thought there was no greater pain than being betrayed by those he had loved – but giving was so much worse than receiving. Arthur could hardly bear to look at the expression etched on his friend's face -one he had never wanted to see. The king couldn't have done more damage if he'd unsheathed his sword and plunged it into his servant's flesh. Right now he wanted to take it all back, rewind time, but he could not. Little did he know there was worse to come.

Merlin lurched to the side and crashed to his knees, up-turning the chair and sending the bowl skidding across the floor. He was violently sick; body taut on all fours, convulsing as the retching continued. Eventually the servant rolled onto his back, exhausted.

Arthur stepped towards him cautiously and knelt, placing a hand on the fallen man's shoulder only to have it pulled away as Merlin scuttled backwards, away from the mess and from the king.

"Merlin wait, I'll call Gaius, I'll...," he advanced and Merlin continued to move back, gaze never leaving his sovereign.

"It's not your style Sire; I thought the gallows were a possibility or the pyre, a sword maybe, but poison?" Merlin threw back his head and let out a brittle laugh, "Morgana would be so proud." The warlock threw open his arms, addressing the ceiling, "Are you happy now? Have you had your revenge?"

Merlin seemed unhinged; he did not normally show anger or bitterness, only if he was pushed beyond endurance, so this display chilled Arthur to the bone.

"Merlin, Morgana's not here – for once this has nothing to do with her."

"I know that!" He barked, then his arms and head flopped back down. The fight was all gone, replaced by sadness, "I never thought...I hoped it would not end this way." The pitch of his voice was now barely audible.

"What are you talking about? I'm not going to hurt you, you idiot."

The servant surveyed the monarch, anger long-since dissolved into disillusionment, "You already have."

The words stung. The king pulled at his hair and stamped, "I didn't know this would happen! Damn it, you're my best friend!" He shook his head and gazed at the floor, "I would never do anything like that on purpose – Why would you think such a thing?"

The warlock let out a faint snort, "The things I've done. What I am."

Arthur did not even register the response; he was so riled and desperate to defend himself that he did not hear Merlin and instead ploughed on with his plea, "I only wanted the truth!"

"Truth?" Merlin spat out sullenly. "Really? The truth hurts and you couldn't deal with it!" He shouted, then turned away deflated. "I tell you the truth all the time and you don't want to believe it," he looked up at his king and sighed, resigned. "You see and hear what you want to, not what's really there. That's why I could never tell you," he added quietly, "If you really saw, you would have to choose." The dark head flopped forward, crestfallen.

Arthur wanted Merlin to stay angry; he could deal with that. He could hold his own in a fight, but his friend had fallen silent. It was like Merlin expected this, knew his king could treat him this way. That comprehension, coupled with the enormity of what he'd done, made the royal want to vomit. Things had gotten out of control so quickly – like trying to coax a flame only to have it turn into a raging inferno destroying all in its path until nothing is left but ash.

Nothing made sense anymore. For once the servant had not tried to be evasive and dodge the questions; he had answered truthfully and from the heart but his responses were still riddles to Arthur. However, if the king would only listen, all the answers were already there – and there was some part of him that knew that.

Before the monarch could seek clarification, the thin thread holding Merlin up snapped and he collapsed. His skin was waxy and white, body still – Arthur feared the worst.

Sprinting over, the royal grasped at his servant's neck, relieved when he felt a pulse – it was barely there, weak and thready.

"GUARDS!"

Oak doors were flung open and the men who were permanent fixtures outside the king's chambers rushed in.

"Go and get the physician – NOW!" He ordered, not even turning his head away from the floor and his fallen friend.

The men almost tripped over themselves in their haste to complete the task, such was the fury in the king's tone. The guards were used to being statues and had a similar amount going on between the ears but the royal was confident they would be able to follow his orders to the letter. He heard the sound of retreating footfalls slapping the stone floor and sighed, assured Gaius would soon be on the way.

The king knew the situation was dire. He'd seen plenty of causalities on the battlefield and he instinctively knew when a knight would not make it – there was a certain aura about their body. He'd felt death's putrid fingers on his own skin in the past, but had been lucky enough to elude their grasp. He'd lost many and taken lives himself when necessary - but never like this.

Arthur watched, paralysed, as his servant lay motionless on a dusty stone floor, devoid of any visible injury. The royal was numb; a bitter chill crept up his spine as if he were being encased in ice.  _This could not be happening._ Merlin had the look and feel of one whose life was ebbing away, a hair's-breadth from becoming a corpse - and it was entirely his fault. He could not breathe; his chest was tight. Arthur, King of Camelot, a respected and so-called honourable knight had poisoned his best friend.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that! Thanks for all the comments and kudos! Let me know what you think will happen next.


	6. From Bad to Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur realises the true magnitude of what he's done. Merlin deteriorates further and starts to hallucinate and say strange things.

 

Chapter 6 From Bad to Worse

Arthur felt the empty vial in his pocket and, in a fit of rage, tore it free and hurled it at the wall where it shattered into hundreds of pieces - broken beyond repair like his friendship. He turned his attention back to the unconscious servant. He'd caused this, no one else; the fault was all his and he had to make it better. He started shaking Merlin's shoulder and slapping his face, trying to rouse him. When that failed to work, the monarch adjusted his position so the servant was more upright then sat on the floor, pulling the sick man's trunk against his chest, head supported against his shoulder. The royal took some comfort in feeling the faint beat of his brother's heart.

Safe in the knowledge his servant could not hear him, the dam broke. Truths poured from Arthur's tongue in a torrent of emotion, "I'm sorry Merlin, really I am, you're loyal and brave and don't deserve any of this." He rubbed his eyes to remove any traces of moisture - kings don't cry. "Come on, wake up," he pleaded, "no time for rest, you great lanky idiot, get up - we have come through worse than this." After each appeal the royal rubbed the tan jacket, trying to elicit some response from its owner, but to no avail.

Throughout all manner of scrapes and adventures the two men had been triumphant. They complemented each other and had vanquished all manner of threats; mythical beasts, bandits, and sorcerers hellbent on revenge. Merlin, who rode into battle without armour, who never left his side, had been defeated by the very man he stood shoulder to shoulder with – stabbed in the back by his best friend. There was no blade, no blood; but that potion was draining his life-force just the same. Arthur would never forgive himself for what he had done to Merlin. How could he tell Hunith that her only son suffered because of him, because of his arrogance and stupidity? Guinevere, Gaius, the knights - they would all want answers, but no explanation would be good enough.

Uther had trained his son to be strong and decisive with no regrets - a king can have no friends, can trust no one, and only earns respect through fear. Merlin taught him that those values were wrong. The old tyrant must be turning in his grave seeing a servant cradled in his son's arms, a servant whose opinion Arthur sought over any other in Camelot (save his wife), whose health and forgiveness he yearned for above all else – and if tears were what it took, he would give them gladly because some men were worthy.

The young king sensed the unconscious man stirring and he carefully extracted himself from the servant, placing the man flat on the floor with a pillow from the bed supporting his head. He watched intently as pale eyelids fluttered.

Merlin was becoming aware of his surroundings again and cracked open his eyes. The images were blurry, but he could make out a form in front of him. The man had a broad chest and lank black hair that brushed against his shoulders. The clothes were shabby and his expression could have been intimidating if it were not schooled into a reassuring smile. Balinor.

"Father?"

"Merlin?" The royal said, somewhat surprised.

Merlin had told him he'd never known his father and Arthur had assumed that the man had walked out or died – this was not good.

Balinor's voice was all wrong; the warlock blinked and the fuzzy figure came into focus, a man with short blond hair. Arthur. The sorcerer flinched. Did Arthur know now? The king had every right to be angry, he'd been deceived since the moment they'd met. Of course a Pendragon would react that way. _I've lied; I have magic. My greatest fear has been realised - I've always known it could happen…_  No, there was something else… Arthur wasn't angry; he was… worried? He'd said he knew nothing, so why the poison? It didn't make sense. The warlock shook his head - it hurt, everything did. He was so tired and it was hard to think. Someone was saying his name and he couldn't concentrate.

"Merlin, can you hear me?" The royal debated touching his servant's shoulder to gain his attention. Arthur did not want to alarm the skittish young man but he was just gazing into space, oblivious to everything around him.

"Merlin!" The royal yelled with a bit more force than he'd intended.

The man in question jumped, then his head turned slowly toward Arthur. His face was impassive, eyes wide and lacking their usual sparkle, pupils fixed and dilated. The monarch had never seen Merlin look so pitiful. Arthur gave an involuntary shiver, Merlin was listening now but Arthur found all the moisture had left his throat, he swallowed and tried to explain.

"I think you've had a bad reaction. Gaius is on the way," the king said. "It will be alright – you will be alright... It was just supposed to be a truth potion," he added somewhat desperately, "It was an accident. You keep secrets, you never tell me anything..." his tirade was interrupted.

"Why do you think that is, Arthur?" The servant croaked, "You never react well!" The warlock solemnly surveyed the speechless king - the man he'd do anything to protect - and tried to process just what the hell had happened.

_Accident? You wanted to know my secret and now I'm dying?_  The irony wasn't lost on Merlin. He should be angry, but what purpose would it serve? He did not have it in him, did not have the energy to fight his fate. _I should just tell him; I've nothing left to lose._  Only that wasn't true. His brother's faith and friendship - no matter how fragile - was the only thing that kept him going. The cord that connected them was now so tenuous it would surely snap, but he had to cling to it for just a little longer – even though he knew Arthur would need to know in the end.

Even when ailing, Merlin knew how to silence a king. Arthur could not think of an appropriate response. He felt uncomfortable under the glare of the man he'd betrayed and so busied himself in the practical.

"Can you sit up?"

Not waiting for an answer, the strong knight pulled the younger man into an upright position. Merlin still looked terrible. He was studying his hands again, turning them over and inspecting them, but then stopped and gazed into the opposite corner of the room.

Again the royal couldn't help himself and turned to look at what his servant seemed so captivated by – but there was nothing there.

"Merlin?" Arthur grasped his friend's shoulder, "What are you looking at?"

"Freya."

The king pulled his hand away like he'd been burnt.

A small smile touched his servant's full lips and his attention remained behind Arthur. The royal's mouth went dry and his stomach twisted – _Freya was dead._  Merlin was calm and no longer seemed angry that his friend had tricked him, but the relief this should have brought was short-lived. The dark-haired man was somewhere else entirely, somewhere with ghosts - and that was most disturbing.  _Had the dead come to claim his friend?_  He had heard of such things, but did not want to believe it. Arthur placed his hand tentatively against Merlin's chest.

"There is nothing there, Merlin," he ran his tongue over his teeth and swallowed, not sure how to continue. "Freya's gone – she died years ago. You told me that," he said softly.

"I know..." the dazed man turned towards him, his deep blue eyes watery and earnest, "but she's here now. She's spoken to me before in times of need...she told me what to do."

"Times of need?" The king croaked.

"How to defeat Morgana's un-dead army…"

The king was speechless, his arm dropped to his side, his mouth agape. _All had seemed lost, we had been losing the battle, then the spell broke and we were victorious. How could Merlin have influenced that?_  After stunned silence, sarcasm took over; it was his only form of defence when it came to his servant.

"You do that a lot – destroy immortals?" The statement was said with a hesitant smile. He had not expected a reply but he got one.

"I do what's necessary to protect Camelot, to protect you," the warlock said defiantly, looking straight at his king.

"You protect me?" This was getting surreal; Merlin had purged himself of the potion but he was not getting better, he was getting worse.

"All the time," he shook his head and frowned, "but it's not easy." The sorcerer was becoming distant, eyes brimming with moisture, "Always you, but I tried so hard to save them all."

"How many times Merlin?"

"Five!"

"Five? You saved me five times?" Arthur was incredulous.

"No!" Tears spilled over his cheeks, "I don't keep track of how often I save you or others, only the times I've failed." His face scrunched up in pain, but he was determined to continue. "All this power," there was a dismissive wave of one hand, "I was not strong enough, they died because I could not shield them. Will, Freya, Lancelot, my father... even Morgana, all gone," he gestured with his hands, "I couldn't stop it happening."

"Morgana is not dead."

"Not physically," his arm jerked in a fist then flopped down in frustration, "but the Morgana we knew died years ago and it's all my fault." The frail man became resolute, "She's become bitter and twisted, bent on destruction. I've stopped her Arthur – but what about next time?"

Suddenly Merlin seized his king's arm. He clutched the fabric tightly, bony fingers biting into the king's bicep to such an extent it hurt.

"Listen to me, Arthur, Morgana is obsessed with killing you. She won't rest. She's grown stronger – I thought she could be saved but it's too late. I have looked into her soul and it is wretched; she's insane, there is no coming back."

"Merlin," Arthur tried to pull away, yelping when his servant's grip intensified – despite his frail appearance his voice was strong and commanding, frighteningly so.

"No, listen, you never listen," frustration laced his tone, "this is important. Don't go after her, but if there comes a time when she is close use your sword – Excalibur - it has the power to destroy her." The servant released the royal's arm and flopped backwards, "I'm sorry I failed you."

"Don't be absurd – you are not going to die and you're not to blame for what happened to Morgana, or those deaths." The king had hold of Merlin's snot-streaked face, forcing his friend to look at him. "Stay with me Merlin, Gaius is coming."

"It's too late," he said sadly, "I think..." he blinked and sighed. "That's why they are all here, to take me to Avalon."

"NO!" The king shouted, distraught. "No – it was just a truth potion, nothing more; you can't die, Merlin – that's an order." He swallowed but there was no saliva, all moisture being diverted to his nose and eyes and threatening to break free. "You will be polishing my armour in no time," the king sniffed, but they both knew that was not true.

"Look," the warlock waved his arm in front of Arthur; his eyes were wide and full of wonder, "It's kind of beautiful like this – embers, sparks that fly on the wind and turn to ash – kind of ironic, don't you think?"

Arthur closed a fist around Merlin's flailing limb, lowering it slowly; he spoke to his servant like he was speaking to a child.

"There is nothing there."

"It's leaving," the warlock said wistfully, "my life-force."

"I can't see anything."

"You can't see the magic?"

Arthur's breath caught in his throat; Merlin was clearly delusional – but somehow he knew his friend spoke the truth.  _He needs a physician._

"There is no magic here, Merlin; I would know." The king was firm in his argument, but Merlin did not waver.

"It's everywhere, Arthur," he marvelled. "It's in the very fabric of the world; fire, rivers and oceans, the earth, the air that we breathe - it is all around."

As Merlin spoke a sense of foreboding had built in Arthur's chest, the things his friend said suggested one thing – one secret that, if true, would explain why Merlin had remained silent. Finally it was about to be laid bare, and he did not want to know. He could force the truth out of Merlin, he had the power, but he no longer wanted to. Arthur was brave, fearless, but he was scared to ask the question because he already knew the answer.

Suddenly the servant turned to his king, grabbing his arm, "You have to leave now, it's not safe."

"I'm not going anywhere," Arthur was getting frustrated – _Where is Gaius?_

Merlin was insistent, "You – you, go, I can't control it." A desperate shout, "Please GO!" He had started to tremble, "Go before it's too late."

"No."

The warlock did not fully understand what was happening, but he was sure of one thing - he was dying. It was not in a battle or in some heroic way; it was not what he had imagined and he could not stop it. Somehow he'd kept his secret but was being burnt from within for not telling the truth. He was frightened and did not want to die alone, he craved the comfort and the presence of his brother, but Arthur had to leave. He just needed to tell him the truth first, to make him realise that magic was not evil - that his had one purpose: to defend The Once and Future King.

Merlin felt weaker for each strand of his golden gift that left, but bony fingers locked onto muscular biceps; fever-bright ocean eyes bore into the king's solemn sky-coloured irises.

"I've never betrayed you, Arthur … I only ever wanted to protect you."

"I know, Merlin. I've always known; you don't need to say it."  _Your loyalty has never been in doubt. I failed you; I'm an arrogant, shallow fool. What does that secret matter now?_

The servant shook his head, closed his eyes briefly then opened them wide, "Please understand it's not evil – I used it to shield - only for good, only for you."

Arthur was shaking his head, pain clouding his face, willing his brother to stop. He did not want to hear the words that were about to wash over him, but he could not hold back the torrent as Merlin's final truth hit him.

"I have magic, Arthur," he took a deep breath, "I was born with it!"

It was like being in a vacuum. He heard nothing, and everything was black save for his servant's face. The king watched in shock as the tide retreated; deep blue pools around the pupils disappearing, leaving behind pure gold. The orbs of fire rolled back in their sockets, lids shuttered out the light and the body they belonged to crumpled to the ground, slipping through slack arms.

Arthur sprang back like he'd been stung. He could not comprehend what he had just seen. Instinct told him to run away and he started to; he scrambled on his hands and knees and got a few metres but could not do it. He could not leave. Merlin had magic, but the man's life was at stake and that was more important – it had always been more important and he saw that now.

The room was getting brighter and when Arthur looked at Merlin's body he saw light emanating from it. Flecks of gold were rising in a steady stream, accumulating on the ceiling above in a swirling mass of white-blue sparks. It was getting noisy, a buzzing sound that he had not been aware of before but was increasing in intensity. It was like being in a blizzard - he couldn't see, blinded by the light, he couldn't hear his own shouts over the deafening roar. He was crawling towards the stationary figure, it was most important that he got there. He sensed something and reached forward, grasping a wrist and being shocked when the skin burned him - but he would not let go. He could find no pulse.

"NO!" Arthur screamed, his voice lost in the building crescendo of noise and light. He pounded on the chest of his friend with his fist, begging for him to wake up.

"Take me instead," he pleaded to no one and anyone, "take me."

The king of Camelot was blasted backwards, striking the wall and falling to the ground. The glass in the windows shattered and blew outwards, but darkness had claimed the royal before his body hit the floor.

 

[](https://imgur.com/3blmZbs)

* * *

_To be continued..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not looking good, let me know what you think.


	7. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has to deal with the aftermath of what he has done.

Chapter 7 Choices

He could feel the floor beneath him and knew he was alive because everything hurt. It was silent and very dark. There was a breeze against his skin and when he licked his lips they were grainy, he choked on the film that covered them. His body jerked and he felt pressure on his chest. Forcing his eyes open was a mistake, bright light and blurry images assaulted him so he closed them again. His chest was being rubbed and his cheek received a slap.  _Hey! What the...?_

Arthur opened his eyes again and saw Gaius peering down at him. The physician started running his hands over the king's face and patting his torso, checking for injuries. The old man was mouthing something.

"I can't hear you," the king says - his voice makes no sound.

Suddenly, he remembered - everything.

The royal jerks up, but is forcibly pushed down by a gnarled hand. _No, I need to see him, where is he? What has happened to Merlin?_  He's frantic, struggling to break free, and is craning his neck to find his servant. _I must find him._  He starts to kick and try and get up. Suddenly there is a weight on his legs and shoulders – Leon's face meets his own; it's white and full of anguish.  _Merlin, where is Merlin? No one is answering my questions; can anyone hear my questions? Does anyone care?_  The room is full of dust and debris; broken windows, wrecked furniture... and then he sees them. Two brown boots stick out from behind the bed, legs rolled out and motionless – Merlin. The fight is back on; he needs to see him, to know what has happened. A hand grabs hold of his jaw and prizes it open. Cold liquid trickles down his throat, he wants to gag but his nose and mouth are pinched shut, leaving him with no choice but to swallow.

It's a sedative - he's had them enough to know. Soon he will slip back into oblivion. Arthur can already feel his movements becoming sluggish and his vision dimming.  _Why won't they tell me?_  He fears their silence, and part of him welcomes the encroaching darkness because now he won't have to think about what he's done.

* * *

A tempest had been raging over Camelot for five days, the like of which had never been seen before. The atmosphere was charged - the air seemed to fizz; there was thunder, lightning, and torrential rain. Ominous black clouds made the sky so dark it was like night even during the day. Arthur did not care – it matched his mood. Nature could be such a destructive force and yet, miraculously, there had been very little damage to buildings and wildlife. The king's chambers had been the only part of the castle to receive a direct hit – or so everyone presumed. There had been no casualties, well that's not true; there was a victim - he was laid out on the bed and had not moved in the time since the incident, not a twitch.

Arthur observed the body solemnly; it did not look like Merlin. It was a shell; the person that usually resided there was gone. Everything that made the man who he was had deserted, leaving behind a ghost. The royal could no longer hear the wit or see the smile. The bright blue eyes full in equal measure of mischief, wisdom, and compassion were closed – perhaps permanently. The magic left and took his friend with it. The king couldn't stand to look at the broken vessel any longer and turned away – more accurately he couldn't stand to look at what he had done, what he caused because he had to know the truth at all costs.

Merlin has magic; surely that negated everything - justified Arthur's actions somehow? _It's what I've been taught, isn't it?_  The sorcerer's connection to the king needs to be severed; it was essential in the same way amputating an injured knight's limb saved their life. It was for the best - difficult but in time he would learn to cope and adapt. Arthur lurched forward, gripping the desk, and swallowed down the vomit those thoughts provoked. Once his breathing was under control he gulped some water, but the acrid taste remained. He wondered if he could ever wash it away.

Even during Uthur's reign there had been a show of a trial before an execution - Merlin hadn't even gotten that; he never had the chance to defend or explain himself. For all Arthur had endured at the hand of others - being made an orphan, second best for Guinevere, hunted by Morgana and betrayed by his uncle - it paled into insignificance compared to what he had done to his best friend. The king was solely responsible, no external force to blame. In losing his brother the monarch had lost part of himself. Things would never be the same; he could not adapt, and he had never felt so alone or broken.

He had to make this right; he turned back to the figure on the bed. Arthur had confessed all to Gaius; everything that had happened, and all that he had learnt. The physician was professional but curt and distant. Gaius believed the potion had somehow stripped Merlin of his magic and the warlock could not continue to live without it. There was a pulse, but it got weaker daily. Gaius worked tirelessly, searching through ancient tomes, trying to find a cure. The physician had not disclosed any more about his ward's gifts – it was not his place; it was Merlin's. Should the young man die he would say more – Arthur did not want to think about that although it was becoming more of a reality with each passing day.

Gwaine had punched him; the royal rubbed his face at the memory. Leon had revealed he'd always had suspicions about the servant, which were confirmed when Merlin nearly drowned on that voyage. Both knights had passionately defended the young man, spoken of his loyalty and bravery. Gwaine had sworn, had insulted Arthur, Uther, and the regime. It was only after all the shouting and screaming ceased that they agreed they all wanted the same thing – For Merlin to recover. The two knights had been dispatched to find the druids and seek their assistance. No one else in the castle knew what was going on, only that the king's servant had been injured during the ferocious storm.

Arthur had been lied to for years; he should be incensed - and there was a part of him that wanted to get angry. However, it was not his own suffering that played over and over in his mind like a waking nightmare, it was the look on Merlin's face when he realised his friend had poisoned him. Even as the servant lay dying he'd tried to protect Arthur, had told him to run. The last memory Arthur had of his brother would be of his golden eyes - it was a terrible punishment and yet it was no more than he deserved. The royal inwardly cursed, he'd been so obsessed with the notion his friend was keeping something from him, he'd not even considered why.  _What was so terrible it could not be shared?_  Instead he'd arrogantly waited for a confession, and when it had not been forthcoming Arthur had lost all reason. Merlin had always been steadfast and the goodness of his soul was never in question -  _why couldn't that have been enough? It should have been plenty_. He did not deserve the unwavering faith of his friend. Of course a magic user would keep that secret. Now that he knew, all those strange things that surrounded and made up his servant began to make sense.

For all sorcerers had done to Camelot and his family it was nothing to the genocide those associated with magic had suffered; so why would that idiot come to the very place that would see him slaughtered?

The last time Merlin had been close to death Arthur had saved him, dived into the ocean and dragged him from the waves. This time he had been the instrument of the man's destruction. The royal stared at the bed; he'd insisted it have blue covers. Arthur felt a stab of remorse when he remembered screaming at a servant to make it so. The king did not consider himself superstitious, yet he had a specific shirt he wore whenever he went into battle – it had been repaired several times and was now threadbare, but it brought good fortune so it was not to be thrown away - the servant was currently dressed in that special shirt. When Merlin had recuperated on the ship he'd taken to wrapping a blue blanket around his shoulders like a cloak. At the time, it had amused the king that, despite being peasant-born and sick, his gangly friend still managed to look noble in his attire – it suited him. Arthur knew it would make no difference, it was ridiculous, but the royal was desperate. He wanted Merlin to have the opportunity to use the makeshift garment again – as he recovered.

The royal started to pace and looked to the skies. It was hard to believe, but could that huge power fuelling the raging storm have once been contained within the frail and empty man before him? He asked whoever was listening for some kind of miracle. Whatever the price, he would pay it. Merlin and magic were inseparable and Arthur would have to deal with that. Right now all he wanted was his brother back.

* * *

Merlin did not hurt anymore, his joints and muscles did not ache - all pain had left him. He was no longer lying but standing and as his vision began to clear, he could make out a figure in front of him. The man's rough and weather-worn face held a comforting smile that was so familiar, yet the warlock barely knew him.

"Hello son."

"Father?"

_Am I dead? In Avalon?_  Suddenly everything that had happened was too much and he just needed to be held and feel his kin. The young warlock broke into a wide grin and moved towards the dragon lord, ready to embrace him, however the older man moved backwards – seeing the hurt and confusion shadow his son's features, Balinor clarified.

"You are between worlds, neither dead nor alive; until you make a decision you cannot touch or be touched."

"I have a choice?"

"You have always had a choice, for the magic that flows through your veins makes you unique and more powerful than any sorcerer who has ever been or ever will be."

"Then why did I fail?" The young man's brow creased in anguish and tears pricked at his eyes.

"You have not failed, Merlin, don't ever think that." His father held out an arm, palm outstretched, then he bit his lip and let the limb fall back to his side; he drew a breath and said earnestly, "You have achieved much in such a small time. Already you have changed things for the better and we are so proud of you, of all your accomplishments and the difficult choices you had to make."

Merlin said nothing but became aware that there were others present; he scanned the area and saw Will, Lancelot, and finally Freya. He smiled at her. She was more beautiful than ever and his heart swelled as he remembered the touch of her skin and the warmth of her breath.  _I could have that again. I could learn about my father, see my friends._  The people present made him feel safe, loved, and true – they knew him, the real him, no lies, no pretence. He yearned to be with them, to no longer hide. He took a step forward, but stopped when his father spoke again.

"Your life has been difficult; you've had to make hard decisions -too many burdens and so much expectation on one so young. It was not what I would have chosen and I would take away the pain if I could, but you have been strong; you have done well. No one would blame you if you wanted to stay here but the journey is not over. Arthur needs you now more than ever."

"He poisoned me!"

"That was not his intention,"

"He'll hate me!"

"No, the half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole – see for yourself."

Merlin followed his father's hand and looked down. Below he saw himself lying prostrate on a bed, pale and motionless. Beside him Arthur strode up and down, hands on hips, back straight. The king's hair was a mess, he had several days growth on his jaw, small semi-healed cuts were evident on his face and his clothes were crumpled as if they'd been slept in. He stopped pacing suddenly and kicked the bed with considerable force; he kicked again and again, then started laying into the mattress with his fists causing the figure within the covers to bounce up and down.

"He seems angry," the warlock observes apprehensively.

"Yes, but not at you," Balinor reassured his son.

Arthur was shouting but Merlin couldn't hear any sounds. He saw the monarch flinging his arms around, gesturing at his servant who remained inert and oblivious to Arthur's fury. The king dropped to his knees exhausted, all the fight gone – he rested his elbows on the bed, head buried in his hands and shoulders beginning to shake.

Merlin felt his throat constrict, he wanted to go to his king and comfort him somehow – just as he had always done - it pained him to see the monarch so undone. The royal usually had such a tight hold of his emotions. With the exception of anger he seldom showed anyone his true feelings - it seemed like an intrusion to watch. The warlock was roused from his thoughts by movement in the scene playing out before him. Arthur had collected himself and, still kneeling, he reached over the covers and grasped his servant's hand in his own.

The Merlin stuck in-between worlds looked down at his own hand as if trying to register Arthur's touch. He wiggled his fingers but felt nothing and turned his attention back to his father.

"Sleep now, my son, for there is much to think about. When you wake, it will either be here with us or back with your king." Balinor gave a sad smile, "Know that whatever your decision, whichever path you choose, you are loved always and without condition."

The warlock felt tiredness envelope him like a warm blanket and he knew no more.

* * *

 

_TBC_

 


	8. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the dust has settled, all that remains is to pick up the pieces and try and make them fit together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally one chapter but I've split it in two as at over 6,000 words I felt it was a little long. I hope you enjoy it and as always your opinions and feedback is very welcome.

Chapter 8 The Aftermath

Merlin knew which option he had chosen because everything ached. He was immersed in a bone-deep pain; however, on flexing his fingers and toes, he concluded his body was still in working order - albeit a tad sluggish. Avalon could wait; he would see his father and the others again one day. Freya - the very thought of her made his heart clench but he pushed it to the back of his mind; it was not their time. Being in Camelot at Arthur's side was where he was destined and needed to be – there was still so much to do.

Merlin was still in shock; angry at what his sovereign had done, yet anxious about the royal's reaction to his magic. If he were honest, (and he wanted to be from now on) part of him wondered how long he'd stay in the land of the living now his secret was revealed. Whatever happened, whatever the outcome of all this, he had made his choice and he would deal with the consequences.

He did not really want to wake up, the bed was warm and comfortable and he could easily let himself drift, but he had slept long enough. It was an effort to move his stiff limbs beneath the heavy covers. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for the onslaught of bright light, then opened his eyes.

The surroundings were unfamiliar, certainly not a cell (which was a good sign), but neither were they the physician's quarters or his own room. The bed was opulent, with plush sheets and a canopy - guest chambers maybe? He struggled to sit up, failed, and rolled onto his side instead. That's when he realised his mouth was dry. He spied a water container on the other side of the room and out of reach. Looking around he seemed to be alone, which was odd.  _Where was Gaius?_  It was more important to drink, so he let his eyes flick gold and the jug came hurtling towards him at speed. It was travelling much quicker than expected, but just before he was smacked in the face by his salvation the flying pitcher was intercepted by a muscular forearm. That's when Merlin became aware Arthur was standing there, staring at him, mouth ajar.

There was a pregnant pause, neither man willing to break the silence. Merlin inwardly shuddered; he'd just performed magic in front of the king of Camelot and the blond man had done nothing, said nothing, not even flinched - but there was no way the royal had not seen. It felt wrong, but he wasn't going to hide anymore - that's what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

The king pushed down the feeling of revulsion at seeing those brilliant blue irises tainted with gold. The act they'd performed was so innocuous, so mundane, and it had looked effortless – no words or complicated gestures. Arthur swallowed and cleared his throat.

"How are you feeling?" He ventured tentatively, ignoring the obvious.

"I've been better," was the weak reply, the servant glanced up from where he'd been picking at his fingers and offered a small smile.

The king nodded and bit his lip, "You look pretty terrible."

"Thanks, you don't look too good yourself," was the sharp counter.

"Well, that's a damn sight better than you!" The royal huffed indignantly.

It could have been like old times, but it wasn't. An awkward silence ensued, Merlin attempted to move things on.

"Could I have the water please, I'm thirsty."

"What?" The king said, flustered, and then the request caught up, "Oh yes, of course."

Arthur scuttled over to the table and poured some liquid into a goblet. The warlock needed help to sit up and, once he was secure, the cup was handed over. Merlin hated feeling so physically helpless and could not stop himself hesitating before taking a sip, but when he saw the look of regret on the king's face he continued.

Both men looked intently at the furnishings rather than each other. Merlin fumbled with the ornate cup, it seemed wrong to drink from such a grand vessel.

"Here," the royal gestured to the dark-haired man to give him the goblet. The servant thought how odd it was seeing the king assume his role and it almost made him smile, but not quite.

"Thanks."

Arthur nodded, there was more silence and then he spoke, "So this feels very familiar." Merlin raised his eyebrows in question. "This," Arthur gestured to himself and the servant, "us, stuck in a room – you recovering, me asking questions."

"It's not quite the same," was the sour reply, "last time you didn't try to kill me."

The cup slid from the monarch's fingers as he stared, red-faced, at the occupant in the bed. The base clanged against the floor sending a fountain of fluid towards the king. Merlin's irises glowed and time slowed, the cup righted and the suspended liquid poured back to where it had come from. A flick of his lashes and the cup floated through the air and back down onto a table.

Merlin glanced nervously at the king; he took in Arthur's stoic expression, the vein pulsing on his temple and the white knuckles, and he knew it was taking all the royal's reserves not to react. The sorcerer felt small and exposed, like he'd been caught in his undergarments. He'd not meant to goad Arthur, it just happened. Ever since his magic returned he'd felt engorged with it, like it was seeping out of him on the slightest whim. All those years spent learning control and restraint seemed to have deserted him; his magic and emotions had always been closely linked and both were currently in turmoil, as changeable and volatile as the ocean.

Arthur watched the whole scene with a dry throat and tingles up his spine. After the display was finished the monarch found what little moisture there was left in his mouth, swallowed, and choked out, "Gaius said you should be careful about doing... doing..." the king twirled his fingers, not knowing what to say, and looked decidedly uncomfortable while trying not to show it.

"Magic?"

He nodded.

"What else has he said?"

"Not a lot; he's not really speaking to me unless he has to."

"Oh."

It was quiet - to the extent the muted sounds of Camelot's citizens going about their day filtered into the room from the outside. Arthur looked towards the faint noise; he had just seen the laws of nature defied twice in less than ten minutes but the sky had not fallen in and the people below were completely oblivious to the marvel he'd just witnessed. The royal shook his head and wondered if he would ever get used to it.

"We weren't sure if you were going to come back," the king said quietly as he toyed with the ring on his thumb, as if taking some comfort from it.

"I wasn't sure if I wanted to come back."

Arthur felt like he'd just been slapped.  _What did I expect after all that has happened?_

A few days ago he had been at his lowest ebb and then he'd been sure Merlin had twitched, that his servant's fingers had gripped ever so slightly in his, but it had not happened again. The physician had told him it could have just been a reflex and not to read too much into it. There were no more movements, no change in his condition, but the storm stopped. The skies cleared, the sun came out again and there was even a rainbow.  _Only Merlin!_

The king had been looking out the window, then he'd become distracted watching the specks of dust illuminated in the light – it was strangely beautiful and made him feel better, if only for a moment. Hundreds of golden dots continued to dance in front of him and then he realised what they were and, more importantly, what they could mean. Arthur stood stunned; he'd never seen anything like it – he was truly in awe and rooted to the spot. He was not afraid; it was warm, familiar, and comforting. He felt like he did when he found something important he'd thought was lost, but that's exactly what it was, the return of something dear - at least that's what he'd hoped. A pattern formed, a steady stream and then a river in the air, making its way across the room and to the figure on the bed. Molten light accumulated above Merlin, then started to flow into his mouth, settled on the surface of his skin and sunk into his form. As the magic moved through his body the servant's skin became iridescent; the process continued for several minutes until the brightness faded and the room went back to being as it had been. The royal approached the bed. The figure remained motionless but he looked better – his lips and cheeks were pink instead of grey and the pulse was now strong.

Nothing happened at first; the patient remained unconscious. Over the next day he started to fidget and move as one is supposed to in their sleep. Then he began to mumble and speak; of his mother and father, his love and his king. He talked in the language of the old religion – for Arthur knew what the strange words were now. Things exploded, bottles and books flew off shelves; plants sprouted, bloomed, and changed colour. If the royal had not known Merlin was magic there was no denying it now! Still, he did not fully wake; he'd been semiconscious enough to be given some fluids and perform basic bodily functions but had shown no awareness, not until today.

"I wanted to tell you," came a barely-audible voice.

Arthur was brought back to reality and looked at the pale lost figure in the bed. The royal did not speak, he kept getting it wrong, instead he motioned for Merlin to continue.

"I was scared," he said flatly.

Arthur felt sickened, "Do you really think so little of me?" The anger and frustration that had been bottled up threatened to erupt, "That I would have turned you in, told my father? That I would have watched you burn? You think that?" He ran his fingers through his hair, breathing heavy and stilted.

The servant was suddenly struck with an urge to lash out, _I was right - look what you did!_  Only Arthur had not intended to hurt him and the king was trying so hard, sniping at him would only damage things further; besides, Merlin had genuinely not meant it that way. He had to explain.

"No, not fear for my life - well, at first maybe." He looked directly at the king, it was important to phrase this right, "I know you, Arthur, you are a good man. Camelot is the most important thing to you; it always has been, and it always will be. I didn't want you to choose between me and the law, between me and your father..." he paused and looked haunted, "then I was afraid of losing you, your friendship, your faith in me." He looked down, fiddling with the covers, and sighed, "So many people have betrayed you and… and I didn't want you to think of me like that." He could not meet the king's eye, "I kept waiting for the right time, for things to change... "

The royal jumped up, "I wish I'd never used that damn potion; I swear I didn't know what would happen," the king clenched his fists and kicked at the floor. "I knew you were lying to me, I just wanted the truth."

Merlin shook his head, "When I tell you the truth you don't believe it! I told you about that servant and you ignored me."

"You had no proof – just one of your 'funny feelings'," he rolled his eyes and jerked his head, "I can't arrest someone based on that – I need facts!"

"Well, Uther never had a problem," the warlock countered viciously.

"What?"

Years of pent up emotions rose to the surface, "Your father would execute someone at the mere mention of magic. He did not wait or care for evidence, he only needed an accusation – remember Gwen? Morgana set her a trap and would have led her to the pyre had a real sorcerer not intervened," he shouted, then tried to calm his breaths.

Arthur gave Merlin a piercing glare.  _Of course he remembered; that image was seared onto his brain._  The royal looked like he would launch into a defensive tirade but in the end he simply said:

"I'm not my father,"

There was an awkward pause.

"I know," Merlin answered softly. "You're more than he ever was."

The warlock let his head fall back and when it bobbed up again he continued, "My funny feelings are just that." He hesitated, briefly closing his eyes. _No more secrets._  The blue orbs opened and he pressed on, determined to explain his gift. "I sense it - the magic in the world; it has a footprint, I can see it, feel it, hear it - magic is me and I am magic. I know when it's pure and good or when it has been twisted and tampered with." The dark-haired man gave his sovereign a pleading look, "What am I supposed to say? When the unicorn was slain, there was a shift in nature. When Eylan disturbed the druid shrine, I felt their pain and heard their screams. Sometimes, I receive warnings that are known only to me because of what I am. Tell me, how do I describe that?"

The royal was green, "You see ghosts?" Arthur thought back to when they were in his chambers and his servant had claimed Freya was with them along with Merlin's father and dead friends. The royal scanned the room nervously.

"Not as a rule, but I do have a connection to the spirit world and any creature of magic. It was the vilia - water spirits, that healed me from the dorocha. Under certain circumstances they can communicate with me and I with them. I can see what others can't."

Arthur had always wondered how Merlin was the only one to survive the dorocha's touch but he'd been so happy to see his servant recovered he'd not asked. Then there was the quest, Lancelot's sacrifice, and somehow it got put aside - like everything else. If only he had paid more attention; there was so much he did not know. At least now he had the pieces to put it all together - it was just so overwhelming.

"How do you deal with that?" Doesn't it drive you mad?"

"It can be a bit distracting," the warlock shrugged.

Arthur frowned, his servant's incompetence had always been a source of irritation but secretly the royal had found it quite endearing - plus it provided him with ample opportunities to poke fun at his gangly friend. What if he wasn't actually uncoordinated - what if the warlock was merely concentrating on higher things and not paying attention? He'd played the fool when they'd first met and that was clearly not true. There were times when he was wise, intelligent - was that the real Merlin?

"Oh right, so you're not really clumsy, it's an act like everything else?" he had not meant it to come out like that, he just felt he did not know Merlin anymore and wondered if he had ever known him.

"It's not an act, Arthur," the warlock was angry now, "this is me. I'm not pretending." The metal pitcher began to shake, in tune with Merlin's wavering emotions. "I did not ask for this," his hands balled into fists. "Do you know what it's like to grow up as a bastard and a freak?" The pitcher flew backwards and into a wall, spraying its contents over the brickwork and floor.

Arthur flinched. He didn't. He knew what it was to be born with a mantle, to be treated differently, to feel alone - but he'd received praise, accolades, and respect. All he'd had to worry about was the possible insincerity of those around him.

The remaining goblet rocked back and forth then stilled. The warlock calmed, his head and shoulders slumped, he picked at his nail beds and began to speak.

"My mother once said she'd considered drowning me as a babe, of taking us both." Merlin struggled as he said the words he'd never spoken before.

The king's blood ran cold at the revelation.

"I'd had a difficult day," the warlock rubbed his arm, but did not elaborate, "I told her it would have been better if I'd never been born," Merlin's eyes were glassy, focused on the bedspread. "She got angry - I'd never seen her like that - she begged me never to think that way; said that I had a gift, that I was special. I did not believe her... and then she told me." His breath hitched, but he continued, "I must have only been a few months old. She was tired, alone, and stuck with a crying baby. She couldn't ask for help, not when objects were flying around the room. It wasn't her fault, she just couldn't cope. It was a fleeting thought, only there for a moment but it terrified her; then she realised there had to be a reason for the way I was, there had to be a purpose."

The royal was stunned; what could he say? He'd never considered what it would be like to have magic or to be so young and live in fear. He'd always been taught it was a choice - greed, a lust for power and domination - but this sounded like survival. He became aware that Merlin was staring at him.

"You are that purpose, Arthur. You are The Once and Future King. I am Emrys, and I was born to serve you."

* * *

**TBC**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked that - the next chapter should be up soon. Not much more now, one final chapter and an Epilogue! Please let me know what you think.


	9. Building Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More secrets are revealed as Merlin and Arthur try and put the past behind them

Chapter 9 Building Bridges

"You are that purpose, Arthur. You are The Once and Future King. I am Emrys, and I was born to serve you."

Merlin's words echoed in the king's head. These were titles of power, of men who were revered.

"Emrys?" was all the monarch could manage.

"It's what the druids call me. I am supposed to be the most powerful magic-user that has ever lived or will ever live," the warlock wrestled with the sheets and looked embarrassed then composed himself, becoming earnest. "A prophecy exists that speaks of a shared destiny. Emrys and The Once and Future King are to unite the nations and form Albion - where there will be peace and magic will be returned to the land.

Merlin held the royal's gaze, his blue eyes sure and commanding.

"It's a lot to take in," Arthur said as he flopped into a chair and pushed his fingers through his blond hair.

Merlin gave a nod.

"I don't understand; you're a powerful sorcerer and yet you're a servant, I throw goblets and fruit at you. How can you be happy with that?" The monarch rushed, incredulous, getting up and pacing about.

"Well, there aren't many employment options for the damned, are there?" Merlin huffed, "Besides, it was your father that made me your servant - and no, I don't like it when you throw things at me!"

The king spun on his heels, gesturing with both arms and addressing the occupant of the bed. "Then why put up with it? Why, if you're so high and mighty, don't you retaliate?"

"Magic isn't about revenge or domination."

"That's what my father thought."

"Well your father was a..." Merlin stopped himself and swallowed, trying to find the right words. "Uther loved you, Arthur. He tried to be a good king but he was blinded by grief. He wanted something to blame, he wanted vengeance for what happened to your mother but retribution did not make him happy. It did not take away the pain." The warlock looked very sad and very old. "Do you really think the fighting would stop if you rid the world of magic? That man would cease to destroy, would no longer seek to conquer? That he would not find another way?"

Merlin paused, letting his words sink in. Meeting no opposition, he continued. "Magic is like any of nature's elements; it can be wild and destructive or beautiful and nurturing. The ability to harness magic is a gift, a responsibility, and like any form of power it has the potential to corrupt but it doesn't have to - that lies in the heart of the user. You could choose to be a tyrant and yet you strive for equality and peace; that makes you a fair and just king. True power can unite and bring about change. It can break this cycle of prejudice and abuse – you could do that Arthur. You would do anything for Camelot and your people love and respect you for it. Bring an end to the battles and bloodshed; create a new age where we work together and not apart. We're just people, let us all be judged on how we act, not how we were born."

"You speak with passion, Merlin, but if you are so strong why have you never sought to make these changes? You could have had Camelot for yourself."

"It is my role to support and protect - you are the king; it is your destiny to rule. All I want, all I ever wanted, is to be free."

These were sobering words. Arthur had always known Merlin's loyalty but now he knew what his friend was capable of, what sacrifices he'd made, and what losses he'd suffered. "How can you have such faith after all I have done?"

"Because I know you. I believe in you." Merlin swallowed, "What would I become if I could not forgive, if I no longer had faith there is good in the world?"

Arthur was humbled, never had he met anyone with such control or restraint. The warlock had not finished.

"I will tell you everything if you want, but there is so much and I can't do it right now - I'm tired," he visibly sagged. "It's not the successes but the times I failed that you will remember, that's what will shape your perceptions," he looked battle-weary and exhausted. Sharp clavicles and the contour of his ribs were clearly visible; he'd lost weight over the last week and Arthur's shirt hung off his shoulders – like a child wearing his father's clothing. "There are things I've done that I'm not proud of, you won't like them. I've made mistakes. It all went wrong sometimes, no matter how hard I tried, there were consequences and it didn't go to plan."

"I think I can empathise with that," The royal said with a sad smile. _I was too proud to speak to my friend and look how that turned out?_

In truth, the monarch had been going over the fragmented conversation he'd had with his servant all week. He'd compared it to the information and explanations Merlin had given for his scars all those months ago. The servant had evidently been protecting Camelot in his own unique way for quite some time. That's not all, Merlin had obviously known about Morgana and her magic before anyone else. He had been instrumental in defeating her so Arthur had realised Merlin must have been powerful, just not how powerful. Emrys – he'd heard the name before, but never understood. When the witch thought she had won, she had taunted him saying that not even Emrys could save him, but she had been wrong – Merlin had been there all along.

Arthur sat down, placed his hands at the back of his skull and closed his eyes briefly. His head was swimming. He'd always been taught sorcerers were evil, bent on destruction, motivated by greed - all they wanted was to rule and oppress. But that was wrong; they were just people, subject to the same temptations and drives as anyone else. _How could the most powerful magic-user to ever walk the earth be Merlin?_  But how could it not? Who else could have the compassion, the humility and wisdom to carry such a responsibility and not be consumed by it? The royal had always known there was more to his friend. It was like the clouds had finally lifted to reveal the majestic mountain that had always been there.

"I will make it right, Merlin. It will be difficult and take time, but you won't have to hide forever."

Merlin closed his eyes and let the relief wash over him. Could this really be the acceptance he'd always wanted? Tears cascaded down his cheeks and he let out a broken laugh that caught in his throat and turned into a coughing fit. Just as he thought he might choke and keel over from a lack of air, a firm hand slapped him on the back. The warlock recovered somewhat and drank greedily from the cup his king offered.

"Went the wrong way," he gasped.

"I only just got you back; I don't want to lose you again."

The warlock looked up mischievously, "Sounds like you missed me."

"A bit," the monarch shrugged, "George is extremely efficient but he is so boring," Arthur rolled his eyes.

"After all that's happened I thought you would have liked boring."

The royal shook his head, "Never."

Both smiled and the tension that was so evident at the beginning of their discussion had melted away. Merlin suddenly became serious; he had waited so long for Arthur to accept him.  _What if he changes his mind?_

"Arthur, don't make any promises until you know it all."

"Morgana?"

The servant's eyes were wide and questioning.

"I know something went on between both of you and that you knew about her magic – I think you feel responsible for what happened to her." His servant just stared open-mouthed; Arthur used the silence to his advantage and continued with his analysis. "I know she tried to kill you, but you were strong enough to stop her and on several occasions your actions prevented her taking Camelot."

Merlin was astounded but then he recovered, "I should have helped her, maybe if she'd known I'd had magic..."

"We all should have helped her – it's not your fault."

The warlock looked distraught. He launched into an explanation, words tumbling out at break-neck speed, not pausing for breath. "But I poisoned her, to stop the sleeping sickness, she'd made a pact with Morgause, it was the only way to break the spell..."

The king had hold of the warlock's shoulders shaking them gently to get his attention, "NOT YOUR FAULT. She made her choice, and you shouldn't have had to make decisions like that on your own."

Merlin just nodded, but did not look up.

Arthur did not know what to say, not only to his friend but to his people. How could he just turn over twenty years of a mindset that had been instilled not only in himself but in all of Camelot's citizens? A deep-seated prejudice and fear that ran through to the core. Now he knew the truth, how could he let it continue? He was a man of principle, he believed in equality; had he not made knights of commoners because of what they showed in their hearts not their breeding? Had he not chosen a wife for love and not status? And had he not always known the advice and counsel of his servant was worth more than that of any dignitary?

"Gaius once told me that he was not the only one who tried to protect me." Arthur looked directly at his friend, "He said, contained within this great kingdom is a rich variety of people with a range of different beliefs." The royal sighed. "He was talking about you, wasn't he?" The servant's expression told the king all he needed know.

"He also said that one day I would understand how much they had done for me. I do understand, Merlin, and nothing you have done can be any worse than any of my mistakes."

"I thought kings didn't make mistakes?"

Arthur held his servant's gaze; there were plenty of responses he could give to that remark, but he wanted his friend to know he was serious. It was never easy to admit poor judgement; it went against everything he knew as a king and he could count on one hand the number of times he'd actually apologised to anyone, least of all the man in front of him. The royal swallowed his pride. "I was wrong," he pushed his tongue over his teeth and let out a sigh, "about a lot of things. Magic is not evil - neither are all those who practice it."

Arthur was solemn, Merlin was pure of heart but not all sorcerers had good intentions. He could not prevent men from carrying arms just in case someone ran amok, so how could he justify the indiscriminate oppression of magic? _What could be done? It had to be regulated somehow_. He made a decision, "The law will change, it will just take time and you will have to be patient."

The warlock's mouth fell open. For a moment he looked like he had been carved in stone, sparks literally flew as the fire in the hearth surged and the goblet vibrated violently. Merlin lunged and flung his arms around a stunned king; the royal in return gave two solid pats to the servant's back and enjoyed the contact and warmth of his brother before breaking the hold.

"Don't tire yourself out too much, there's a backlog of polishing to get through."

"I thought George took care of it?"

"Well, I kept back some of the good stuff just in case."

"Thanks."

The royal just shook his head in response and watched his elated friend, joy radiating from him like heat from a flame.

Merlin's fingers ghosted over his arm. He paused, examining the fabric of his shirt, and looked up quizzically, "Is this yours?"

Arthur flushed and rubbed the back of his neck, "Oh that old thing, I was going to throw it away so..." he shrugged his shoulders,"I thought you might make use of it."

"That's very kind of you," the warlock nodded and tried to school his features into a neutral expression - he knew all about Arthur's special shirt.

The royal was desperate to change the subject and tried to think of something to say, however, there was no need as Merlin became distracted and tilted his head to the side as if listening to something. His brow scrunched up in concentration, then a wide grin broke out, illuminating his features and making his eyes sparkle.

"You called for the druids?" He gushed.

"What? Well, you were… I..." Arthur began. "Wait... how?" He looked totally perplexed.

"Kilgharrah just told me."

"Killy what?"

"He's a friend."

The king scanned the room, and upon seeing nothing, "He's not dead, is he?"

The warlock let out a bark of a laugh, "No." he took a moment to compose himself, "He is of magic; I hear him in my mind."

"Oh, and that's not weird at all...wait... in your head?" The royal paled, "You can't read my thoughts, can you?"

All levity left him. "Uh, no," shaking his head vehemently, "definitely not." He flopped back onto the pillows.

"Good." Arthur gave Merlin an exacting glance.

It was quiet again, Merlin's jubilation seemed to have exhausted him and his head started to droop. The royal felt the conversation had gone well.  _Perhaps I'm getting better at this talking business?_  He knew there was more and he wanted to know it all, but Merlin was too fatigued and he wasn't going to push him this time, he could and would wait.

Arthur felt happier than he'd done in a long while. There was a lot to digest and process, but he could not stop a smile forming on his lips. A coil of excitement formed in his chest, coupled with trepidation - it was the feeling he got when he embarked on any quest. He wondered if he was making the right decision, but his instincts told him he was and he listened to them for once. There would be a lot of opposition, it would be difficult and dangerous as always, and he would need the help and support of his best friend – but he wouldn't have it any other way.

The pale man had stilled; his eyes had fluttered closed and his breathing was even. He seemed so content Arthur did not want to disturb him. He stood up gently, covered the slumbering figure with an extra blanket, and made his way out the room. Before closing the door quietly he looked over to the man he had almost lost, the man he would give his life for and the person he respected most in the world (although he would never tell him the last bit out loud).

"Sleep well, Merlin, we have a busy day tomorrow."

* * *

When Merlin opened his eyes it was dark. He realised he must have fallen asleep and was about to apologise to Arthur, but it was not the king that sat by his side. A wrinkled hand had hold of his and the familiar smell of herbs told him who his companion was.

"Gaius!"

The physician's ward flung his arms around his surrogate father and enveloped him in a bear-hug. Overwrought with emotions that needed to escape, he sobbed. Gaius held him tight and rubbed his back, there may have been a few tears that dropped from his own weary eyes. After some indeterminate time, Merlin broke free.

"It's good to have you back, my boy – I thought I'd lost you."

"What happened?"

"You don't remember?" The physician seemed surprised.

"Yes, mainly... it's a bit muddled – the potion, why did it affect me like that?"

The old man leant back and slapped his knee, then rubbed his face, "I don't know for certain, most likely a combination of factors. The person who made it may not have been as skilled as we first thought, and there's the dosage - I believe you drank it all," he raised an eyebrow, "and, of course, there's how the preparation was stored. It appears the king, in his infinite wisdom, kept it on his person at all times..."

"What? It was incubated in Arthur's pocket for three months soaking up the warmth from his buttock?" The warlock inserted.

Gaius paused, lips pursed, "Indeed, that would have altered it considerably." The physician shook his head; he still could not believe the royal's stupidity or what Arthur had done. Controlling his emotions in front of the king had been very difficult, made possible only by the practice and skill he'd been forced to acquire during Uther's reign.

The physician looked at his surrogate son in wonder, "Then there's you, Merlin, your unique abilities".

"My magic left, Gaius. It abandoned me." The warlock looked distraught, "Growing up, there were times I did not want it… but to be without it… when it started to drain away..." He looked up, shaking his head.

Gaius leaned forward, "Your magic leaving is probably what saved you."

"I don't understand."

"The potion was attacking both you and your magic. Sometimes, to win the war, the battle must be lost. Perhaps your magic retreated and regrouped only to return when the conditions were more favourable - when the poison had left your system." The old man shrugged but then became stern. "Merlin, you did not give yourself a chance. I understand from the king that you had not slept or eaten the day before - in addition to all that, you'd taken some pain remedy which could have reacted with it." The old man folded his arms and glared at his ward.

"Well how was I supposed to know he was going to drug me?"

"That's not the point, Merlin. You run yourself into the ground and try to look after everyone but yourself. Sometimes the only thing holding you up is your magic. Anyone else given that potion would have died immediately." He sighed, "It's not good enough, you can't defend a kingdom if you neglect your own health - if you hadn't been so utterly exhausted things may not have gotten as bad."

The warlock was suitably chastised. He shifted uncomfortably and bit his lip. He was quiet and Gaius wondered if the reprimand had gone too far, but it seemed his ward had been thinking about something else.

"I was with them... Freya, Lancelot, Will, and my father," he swallowed and wiped his eyes."They told me I had a choice, that I could come back – what does it all mean, Gaius?"

"I don't know," he said gravely. "one never knows with you, you are a mystery able to defy death itself – but I am glad to have you back and I'm not the only one."

"Arthur knows."

"It was the right time."

"What do you think will happen?"

The old man shrugged but wore a smile, "Even with my limited skill I feel it, a change in the fabric of magic – surely you do too?"

The warlock nodded, "My magic is all over the place. I thought it was because I'd just got it back and it needed to settle but you're right, it feels like it will happen now. Arthur and I, Emrys and The Once and Future King will unite Albion."

The two embraced again and the laughter and tears flowed.

* * *

A few miles outside the border of Camelot a small procession of druids and knights ground to a halt. It had not been an easy quest, Gwaine and Leon had begun to lose hope of ever finding the secretive people - they been searching for a week. When they did discover the druids, the company was apprehensive and even a little hostile. Several of the men had asked what they had done to Emrys and what the king's intentions were. The knights did not know what they were talking about; Gwaine had said the sovereign only sought their help, but some of the elders had been dismissive and accused the royal of being a hypocrite - only seeking their advice because he wanted something. Why should they risk their lives for someone they did not know? However, when the knight explained Arthur's motives and who it was that needed their help everything changed and they hastened to travel. Gwaine did not know why there was such an abrupt turn to help Merlin, a servant, (although he had some suspicions) but to be honest he didn't care; he only wanted someone to heal his friend.  _Why had they stopped?_  His stomach rolled and he hoped they were not too late. He did not want to think what he would do if they were.

"What is it, Iseldir, is something wrong?" Sir Leon urged.

"Nothing, Sir Knight, on the contrary - the man you wanted us to aid is no longer in need of our services." The druid leader smiled.

"Merlin's alright?" Gwaine questioned, a broad grin breaking over previously sombre features.

"Oh yes, I believe he will recover without our help. However, if it's all the same, I would like to continue on and meet with your king."

"How do you know this?" The rugged knight countered.

"We feel the change in the earth and elements, the pull of prophecies that have been foretold for centuries finally coming together," the druid leader said enigmatically.

The knights exchanged looks, Gwaine just shrugged his shoulders and mouthed "best not to ask". The knight wasn't going to spend time working out riddles; they'd said Merlin was getting better and that was good enough for him. They could worry about the other stuff when they got back. He pulled on the reins of his horse, urging her to move faster and get them to Camelot. They were a small party but it would still take days to reach the castle and they were in hostile territory until they crossed the border.

In a cave nearby, an ancient dragon roared. "Your destiny not only will happen, it has already begun, young warlock. Albion will rejoice in your achievements. But be warned, it will not be easy. There will be losses; many challenges and obstacles will hinder your path. You are the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth but even your success may have a price. Mordred and Morgana still have their role to play. Your destinies are intertwined and you may fight it, but cannot escape it."

Merlin awoke with a start, having heard Kilgharrah's words thrum through his head. He was barely conscious but he'd heard his kin's message.

"We are creatures of the Old Religion, Merlin, and as always my loyalty and guidance is yours. For now sleep and recover for you will need all your strength in the coming times."

The warlock fell back to slumber almost instantly, the dragon's counsel having embedded itself in his brain. The information gave way to dreams of Albion – the beautiful place he would build alongside his brother – forever united, Emrys and the king of Camelot.

* * *

**TCB**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue to follow...
> 
> I hoped you enjoyed that, I certainly had a good time writing it. Let me know what you think.
> 
> One more chapter to go. The epilogue is set a little way in the future and should tie up all the lose ends. It also covers what happens when Arthur discovers Merlin's connection to dragons - lets just say the king does not eat humble pie forever...


	10. Stand Up and Be Counted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Merlin stands ready to face his destiny, he reflects on the last 3 years since Arthur discovered his magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is the final chapter, I hope you find it a satisfying end to the story. Please let me know what you think.
> 
> I have added an illustration to go with chapter 6, which is in bedded into the text and also posted as a separate Art post called 'The Truth Hurts'. http://archiveofourown.org/works/5299316

Epilogue: Stand up and be Counted

Merlin paced back and forth, bile bubbled at the back of his throat but somehow he kept it at bay. He wiped his hands on the front of his trousers for the umpteenth time but they were still clammy. The warlock was trapped by his own volition and it was too late to do anything about it now. He'd promised Arthur he would go through with this, and he was a man of his word.

Marching over to the window, Merlin was determined to calm his nerves with some fresh air. It was a mistake. Outside were hordes of people, queuing to get into the citadel. A wave of dizziness hit and he flung himself against the wall. Bending over, he grabbed at his knees but it did not help; the slender man gave in and let himself slide gracelessly down the wall, coming to rest on the floor. Having curled himself into a ball, the warlock thought back to all that had happened over the years and what had led him to this point.

Three years ago Arthur found out about his magic. In the moments before he confessed Merlin suspected the king had finally worked it out for himself, although he had never revealed if that was the case – it was just too painful. That was the day the king thought he'd killed his best friend. Thankfully, Arthur had been wrong, and the warlock dodged death's sickle yet again. It had taken over a week for Merlin to wake up and two more to recover. The event had prompted the men to talk; they'd discussed much, argued, shouted, and smashed things. Then they made up - as all best friends and brothers do. Their bond had been broken but re-forged, and was now stronger than ever before.

Merlin had not told the king everything, not every minute detail - he wasn't hiding, it's just that some of the things that happened in the beginning did not seem important anymore. Besides, blessed with his new knowledge, the monarch had guessed a lot - leaving the sorcerer only to confirm what the royal already suspected (Dragoon, for example). Some truths could not go untold; they spoke of Balinor and Arthur understood - he too had experienced the pain of losing a father, both in absence and in death. This time around the royal did not begrudge his friend's tears; he told the warlock the man had been kind, noble, and worthy of respect. Unfortunately, things deteriorated when the subject turned to the dragon. Merlin shuddered when he recalled their heated argument.

"How could you let it go, Merlin?" The king stormed, incredulous, "It destroyed half the city!" He slapped his gloves against the table, causing the warlock to flinch.

Having only woken up the previous day the invalid was still confined to bed, and conducting an argument whilst horizontal put the warlock at a distinct disadvantage. "He'd been caged for twenty years..." Merlin protested, but the royal interrupted the plea.

"Because it was dangerous!" Arthur spat, "It burnt women and children; they were innocent." He turned and marched over to the window, his back to the room, shoulders braced.

"Do you think I don't know that – you think I don't care?" The dragonlord yelled, unable to see the king's face. Merlin had never forgiven himself for his kin's crime. For years he had been haunted by the images of people being incinerated by the vengeful beast while he stood by, powerless to prevent it.

Arthur turned menacingly. "Well why didn't you do something? Aren't you supposed to be all-powerful?" The royal threw back, anger and spite spilling into his words and cutting his friend.

"I tried!"

"Not hard enough." Arthur's hands were on his hips and he was breathing hard. Despite promising himself he would try to understand, to listen, he could not get past the fact Merlin had let the dragon go; had let people die when he had the ability to stop it.

The king had said what Merlin always felt to be true; he should have prevented it somehow. The sentiment stabbed at his heart, his defences weakened and shaken, "My magic was useless against him."

"Then how the hell did I kill it?" Fumed the royal, voice hoarse with rage.

Silence.

The dragonlord looked up, meeting the hard and questioning glare of his king. "You didn't," he said flatly.

There was a long pause, then Arthur spoke slowly, each word painfully enunciated, "Tell me it was destroyed."

Merlin shook his head.

"What?" Arthur's response was positively icy. "It's out there right now?" He waved in the direction of the window, "Ready to attack at any moment?"

"No," Merlin folded his arms around his chest as if trying to protect himself from the angry onslaught. "I told Kilgharrah to leave, I forbade him from hurting anyone or attacking Camelot again." The young sorcerer bit his lip and did not even bother to look at the other man. "My father had to die, Arthur, only then did I inherit his gift and become a dragonlord".

Quiet.

Arthur was temporarily halted.  _It wasn't Merlin's fault?_  Then the he recalled the name - Kilgharrah. His servant had laughed, had shown fondness, when he spoke that name. The king's coiled temper rose like a serpent, and then it struck, "You called it a friend!" He pointed his finger, "You still speak to it now, after all it has done?"

Merlin tried to placate the furious king, "He asked for mercy, he was sorry for his behaviour - it was reactive – an act of vengeance born of anger," the younger man reasoned, but his temper began to fray as well. Had he not tried to understand Uther's motives despite what the tyrant had done? Hadn't he pardoned Arthur? The hand of forgiveness was slapped away from him and his kin, they were evidently not worthy of clemency. He tried to calm himself, "We have all done things we regret when angry..."

Arthur erupted, preventing the dark-haired man from getting any further. "You cannot compare what I did," he jabbed at his chest with an index finger, "with what it did!" The royal was so worked-up he trembled, "How many times do I have to say I'm sorry, Merlin?"

The sorcerer's hold on his emotions wasn't any better than his king's, "Actually, you haven't - and neither did your father!" Flecks of gold appeared around his irises and a bookshelf rattled ominously.

The royal was puce. His jaw clenched, his shoulders drew back, and his fingers curled. It took all his control not to throw something, instead he spun on his heels, stormed towards the exit and nearly took the door off its hinges when he slammed the solid wood behind him.

Merlin sat, shaking as he listened to the monarch's retreating footsteps pounding down the corridor. He saw his dream go up in smoke and wondered if he would soon be joining it on the pyre. He cursed the truth potion; granted, his mouth had often gotten him into trouble - but this was ridiculous! He seemed unable to control his tongue or tell white lies. Had the poison caused permanent brain damage? He used to be so good at shielding his feelings and now difficult truths poured from his lips like oil onto flames, feeding the fire of Arthur's fury. There was a part of him that thought this outcome was inevitable; it had been too good to be true, that his friend had accepted him too readily.  _How could I have been such a fool?_  The fact his destiny had been in his grasp only to fall from his fingers and shatter was pain beyond endurance. Then the sensible part of the warlock's brain took over; he'd worked too hard and lost too much not to try and make things better. He had to explain to Arthur, to calm him down and make him see sense.

Unfortunately Merlin's mind was willing but his body was not. He threw himself out of bed, ready to pursue the angry king only to fail at the first hurdle. Having been left immobile for over a week, his legs protested at being forced to work and his head was not ready to be upright. Consequently, he crashed to the floor having only taken a few paces. That's where Arthur found him when he returned later.

The royal had been livid, he knew why Merlin had kept his secret and he thought he understood. Despite his good intentions, he could not stop himself from wallowing in the hurt caused by his friend's lack of trust. Initially those feelings had been drowned out by the guilt he'd felt for poisoning his servant. However, it was now clear that Merlin would recover and with the immediate danger gone those emotions had risen to the surface unbidden, needing only the knowledge of the dragon to give them life. Once he'd cooled down, Arthur felt ashamed. There had been few who could make him feel that way - that he could be wrong - but Merlin was one of them. The king had told his friend he would not be judged, yet that is exactly what he had done.

The monarch made his way back to Merlin's room, ready to make amends. He opened the door and was greeted by the warlock's motionless body sprawled on cold stone. He froze, the original guilt and fear immobilising him for a second like a punch in the gut, then sprinted to his fallen friend and hoisted him back onto the bed, calling for the physician immediately in a panicked frenzy.

Gaius checked his ward and declared him well, but exhausted. He proceeded to lecture the royal for upsetting his patient when the man was in such a delicate condition. Not stopping there, the physician also gave his ward a tongue-lashing for over-exerting himself. Gaius then swept from the room, leaving the two scolded men to fend for themselves. After an awkward silence the two were united by the wrath of the physician; Merlin apologised and miraculously, after a pause, so did Arthur (in his own way).

Things got much better after that. It took a couple more days for Merlin to explain the full nature of his relationship with Kilgharrah, the deals and bargains he'd been forced to make and the birth of Aithusa. There was little he could say about the young dragon, she was lost, a fact that did not go down too well with the king. Arthur did his best to listen and understand, although it remained a struggle at times.

Merlin slowly improved, regaining his strength; his magic settled, bending to his will once more. In those early days the warlock refrained from using his gift in front of his friend if he could. It felt strange and they'd also agreed to keep his secret from the rest of the castle until Arthur could work out what to do. On the surface things appeared to be back to normal, the king's servant was recovering, the royal's mood had stabilised, and finally the queen returned to Camelot.

Arthur discovered just how strong a woman Guinevere was in those next few nights, for she held him together when he was on the verge of falling apart. She was the voice of reason, the healing balm, and the love that pulled him through. The king told his wife all he had done and discovered. In return, she embraced him and whispered words that mended his soul.

Merlin was apprehensive before meeting Gwen, now that she knew. He was prepared to explain everything again, to make her understand, but it was not necessary. When the queen was reunited with her old friend all that was really needed was a hug.

* * *

That had happened years ago.

Merlin was still leaning against the wall, he did not feel like getting up just yet. His pulse had become more even but he liked the security of being low to the ground. Soon there would be a knock on the door and they would ask him to make his way into the grand hall where Arthur would be waiting. Today the king intended to make him the official court sorcerer of Camelot. The ceremony would take place in front of an audience made up of his friends and family plus as many of the citizens that could squeeze through the doors. His mother and the knights would be there, of course, but one face would be missing from the crowd.

Gaius had died last spring. His loss had sent the warlock into a spiralling depression. It was the first time Merlin could openly grieve, and perhaps that had made it harder. The physician had become sick in the winter and never really got over it. He forbade the warlock from using his magic to save him. Gaius was old, he was ready, and it was his time. He did not want to prolong his life and in the end it would have been cruel to do so, for it would have only have lengthened his suffering. Merlin knew this, knew it was for the best, but when Gaius died it pained him just as much as those who had been taken early. The irony burned; he had been free to use his gift but couldn't. His friends were there to help him this time and in the weeks and months that followed he did heal and was thankful for their company and support.

Arthur had postponed his appointment as court sorcerer by six months to give the warlock time to mourn and for that Merlin would be forever grateful. He wiped his face and tried to remind himself that he should be glad, this was a happy occasion and his surrogate father had at least witnessed the growth of Camelot - the treaty with the druids and the end to the ban on magic (which had happened the previous autumn).

Gaius had been there at the start, when the first druid representative to meet the royal on friendly terms had walked into the great hall. Iseldir had bowed down in front of the king, declaring his loyalty and service. Arthur had been impressed and humbled by the display – it had turned out to be the first positive building block in negotiations between the druid communities and Camelot. Merlin had not the heart to tell the royal that the platitudes had been for Emrys, although the physician and his ward had laughed about it afterwards.

It was not easy in the beginning, vengeful sorcerers still tried to attack the city and magic-users were still shunned and hunted. When either party was brought before the king for a trial, it was their actions that were punished; the use of magic was incidental. Eventually, attitudes started to change and magic began to seep back into Camelot, drop by golden drop. For some, the pain of the past was too great for forgiveness, but for most the seed of change was welcomed - Camelot was thriving and successful. Merlin had hoped that reconciliation with Morgana may have been possible now that magic had returned, but in his heart he knew she was too bitter and full of hate. She had disappeared; sometimes he thought he could sense her, but the feeling was as insubstantial as a wisp of smoke and he could never keep it long enough to know if it was real. She would not destroy what they had built, he told himself, for he would watch and be ready should she return.

It was a golden time; the royals presided over a fair and just kingdom. They were happy, but yet to be blessed with a child. He saw the shadow of that disappointment flick across Gwen's face from time to time and Merlin would have helped them if they'd asked, but he was glad they didn't. Perhaps because they all knew the price for such a gift would be too high. They were young and there was time to let nature take its choice.

The day the ban on magic was lifted there had been a great celebration but, to his shame, Merlin could recall very little about it – only that he'd been in high spirits and Gwaine had been instrumental in his loss of memory. The knight refused to tell him what had happened and just taunted his friend by saying he would reveal all on the warlock's wedding day. Gwaine had made it his mission to find his friend a wife, saying he deserved some joy in his life. Despite all those who had been presented, none had turned his head in quite the same way as Freya. He wondered if anyone else ever could or if he would want them too. It did not make him sad, for he was kept busy with his role as defender and official adviser to the king, not to mention absorbing some of Gaius' duties. Besides, he was young and there was still time.

Thinking the king was safe he had taken himself off, travelled throughout the five kingdoms and learnt more about his magic; honed his skills and knowledge. He felt more ready to protect his friend than ever before but, as if fate had wanted to play a cruel trick, he had returned to find Mordred at court. When he had seen the young druid it had taken all his power not to react defensively. Merlin was immediately suspicious and cool towards the young knight. Arthur had taken him to task on his attitude, saying the young man had proven his worth and earned the right to serve the king. Merlin had pleaded with his friend to see reason and eventually told the royal of the prophecy concerning Arthur's death at Mordred's hand. The king had been livid that such information had been kept from him but Merlin was vehement that no man should know too much about the circumstances of his own demise.

They had fought, but in the end Arthur had used the warlock's own argument against him: 'people should be judged for what they have done, not what they might do'. Merlin had been forced to concede. The royal said he was not afraid to die; he would not cower in front of destiny. He had been a target all his life and he was not going to change because of it. It was true, of course, and Merlin would have to accept it. After all they'd been through and achieved, the presence of Mordred put fear in his heart. It pained him to see the potential means of his king's destruction so close. The druid was likeable and Merlin did his best, but he could never fully warm to the man, there was too much at stake not to watch and wait.

* * *

Merlin was startled out of his musing when he heard the door open. He stared expectantly as light flooded into the room followed by Gwen. The queen looked quizzical, her gaze scanning for the occupant. Her face morphed into concern when she found him and she slipped through the opening, making her way across the room to the seated warlock.

"Merlin?"

He looked up, giving a small smile in greeting. "Is it time?"

"Almost. What are you doing down there?" She crouched next to him. "It will be alright, you'll be fine," she said lightly.

He nodded in response.

The queen took in her friend's demeanor and lightly touched his shoulder. "You miss him, don't you?" Merlin's head dropped to the side and rested against the queen. "He was very proud of you," she said, taking her free hand and entwining it with his. After a few moments spent in silence Gwen turned, putting her stern face on and addressing the most powerful warlock ever to live like a small child, "Come along, Merlin, there are a lot of people out there waiting to see you become the official court sorcerer." She pulled the tall, slender man into standing so he dwarfed her petite frame. Undeterred she took him by the shoulders and smoothed the creases in his shirt. "You and Arthur have faced much worse, remember Jarin? We could never have defeated him without your skills – Camelot saw who you really were and what you could do that day and we are all indebted to you."

Merlin shuddered; ironically, Jarin had been the man who had set everything in motion. He had been the mastermind behind the attack on the castle which led to the discovery of the truth potion. The man had bided his time before retaliating and the resulting battle had been difficult - Merlin still bore the scars. His back and knee gave a twinge at the memory. Jarin had wanted to destroy Camelot and yet his actions had inadvertently led to her unification with other kingdoms - no, Arthur would have come around anyway; poisoning his best friend was just a catalyst…

"Merlin?"

The voice tore him from his thoughts and he looked up at the concerned face of his queen.

"All you have to do his walk out there and swear allegiance to the king and Camelot – Arthur will do the rest. Just don't trip."

Finally she got the smile she'd been waiting for.

"I will try not to slip, trip, or fall flat on my face." The warlock chuckled nervously.

"Oh, I almost forgot, we wanted you to have this." Gwen swiftly moved toward the bed and picked up a bundle she had placed there, unnoticed, when she entered the room.

Merlin shook it out to reveal a majestic deep blue cloak. It was similar to a knight's, save for the colour and addition of a hood, the gold dragon motif was embroidered on the expensive cloth and there were ornate metal clasps at the collar.

"Gwen, it's... it's..." he pulled her into a hug, "Thank you." He said, totally overwhelmed.

The queen helped the warlock into his new clothing; she was a deft hand and within seconds was adjusting the fabric so it fell correctly over his shoulders. She looked up and gave a dimpled laugh, "Perfect. You scrub up well."

"Gwen, I don't know what to say." Despite gaining status as the king's advisor, Merlin was still a novice when it came to receiving praise or gifts.

"It was all Arthur's idea, he was most insistent; picked it out and everything." She gushed enthusiastically, then paused and became thoughtful, "He said he always knew there would be an occasion when you could wear something like this!" She shrugged and raised her eyebrows.

Merlin just looked perplexed, then shrugged too, "Who knew he would have such good taste after all these years." He broke into a wide grin that radiated confidence. "Thank you, for everything."

"You're welcome, and thank you." She grasped both his hands then gave them a gentle tug, pulling him down to her level so she could peck his cheek. "Now, they will call you in a moment." With that she released him and hurried out the door, pausing briefly to look over her shoulder and mouth, "Good luck."

Merlin stood alone, but was far being on his own. He felt warm and safe in his cloak; it gave him comfort and made him feel like the powerful warlock he was – ready and willing to tackle anything. He'd been named after a bird and now he could truly soar - finally he was free. It was what he'd always wanted; Arthur had accepted him as a whole, including magic. He was in the place that he loved and would protect it tooth and nail, only now he could do it without boundaries or prejudice, together and at the side of his friend.

Then they were calling his name and he found himself striding towards his brother and destiny; he had never been more content or fulfilled in his life.

The End.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So all finished. I wanted to write a reveal story that was a bit different; by changing the dynamics and making Arthur the one who betrays. The guilt he feels for hurting his friend makes Merlin's magic seem insignificant in comparison but then I thought he'd have to fall off the compassion wagon at some point, hence the dragon discussion. For all his faults, Arthur came good in the end.
> 
> I loved writing this and I hope you enjoyed it - A big thank you for all your support. Please let me know what you think.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ART: The Truth Hurts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5299316) by [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72)




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